Maiden Voyage
by heartsn'minds
Summary: April 10th, 1912: cousins Draco Lucius Malfoy and Henry Sirius Black (formerly, Harry James Potter) board the ill fated RMS Titanic only to meet the loves of their lives, friends of great repute, and watch as the 'unsinkable' ship collides with an iceberg, leaving the idea of survival into the hands of fate.
1. Prologue

It was April 10th, 1912 the grandest ship in the world was to set sail away from fair England and to New York City, to the country of freedom. The sky was a beautiful and cloudless corn blue tone with not a cloud in sight; the port at Southampton, England had already been crowded with people long before the maiden voyage was even timed to leave - and the majority were merely spectators, there to enjoy the finesse the ship exuded.

The scent of sea air swirled about, causing several to eagerly ooh and ah at the way the waves lapped up the iron paneling of the ship - and how strong and grand it appeared, at how strong and grand it was! The steamers had already begun to billow with a puffy, white smoke as those below began to stoke the furnaces; the crew could be seen trailing back and forth, giving out orders and keeping an eye out for certain passengers.

Passengers like Mr. Hudson Allison, the business tycoon; passengers such as Mr. Thomson Beattie, the infamous landowner; passengers like Major Archibald Willingham Butt, President Taft's general. Passengers such as Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir of the Malfoy corporations and his companion and best mate, the wealthy (but adopted) son of one Sirius Orion Black, Henry Sirius Black (formerly Harry James Potter).

These were the people the White Star Line kept a close birds eye watch on, their sea faring gaze fixed upon the port's horizon, making sure some of their most valuable passengers would not miss the maiden voyage of the ship of dreams. Chief Mate Henry Tingle Wilde easily swept through the wide hallways of the side of the ship, a thin smile finally appearing when he saw the grand influx of people finally appearing - ready to board this unsinkable ship, and ready to help be part of history.

* * *

"Drake, mate, you're being ridiculous." One Henry Sirius Black complained as they both sat in the shining black Ford auto, the plush tan leather interior and dark red and god velvet design screamed Gryffindor, the house of both Sirius and Henry's old alma mater, Hogwarts.

The blonde heir narrowed his eyes as he glared out the window every few moments, his gray eyed gaze skimming past the tall buildings and planted trees.

"I don't see why Father and Mother insisted that I ride with you when I have a _phalanx _of personal Malfoy cars in my usage."

The dark haired successor to the Black line sniggered. "That's what you get for skimping out on dear old Aunt Narcissa's Spring Soiree, _Drakie-poo_."

At the Malfoy boy's hardened glare, the man who was Henry Black collapsed in a fit of laughter. The memory of one Pansy Parkinson practically jumping upon the debonair and stoic Draco Malfoy was a memory he intended to keep until his death. The stunned and horrified expression that fixed itself upon the Malfoy heir's aristocratic features and the stiff and awkward way he held the pug faced girl had sent Henry - even during he Soiree - submitting into a wave of chortling and guffawing.

"You keep laughing Black and I can assure you that the next time you do, you will be introducing to society your lack of front teeth and not your _charming_ cackles." Draco drawled sarcastically as he pulled his gold pocket wash from his breast coat pocket.

At his words, Henry managed to take a few breaths to calm himself down but his violet eyes still glinted with mischief.

"Aw, come on, mate! It was all in good fun - don't tell me you're going to end up like a wooden board with no sense of anything other than business even _before_ you're thirty?" He pretended to gasp in mock horror as Draco rolled his eyes at the childishness of his younger (by 1 month mind) cousin. "And I do _not_ cackle," he added, "I chuckle in a respectable manner acceptable to the Black name." His voice took on a posh accent at the end which caused even a wry smile upon the blonde scion's countenance as he placed away his pocket watch.

Turning to glance out at the window, his scowl disappeared, replaced by only a mildly annoyed expression. "This Titanic better be as grand as Father makes it out to be - I expect nothing less than royalty for when I arrive upon the docks of New York come Wednesday."

Henry raised a brow. "Trust me, cousin - Titanic is a masterpiece beyond _comparison_. I should know, I helped Andrews with some of the designs myself."

"Oh and what comfort that brings me - Henry Black, the boy who single handedly managed to achieve the most visits to the nurse's office while back in college." Draco bit out, though the makings of a small smile were upon his lips.

The dark haired male crossed his arms in mock defiance before peering out the window, his eyes glowing with excitement as he eagerly turned towards his cousin and closest confidant. "Draco! Look! We're at the port - we're - "

"Oh by goodness, Black," the gray eyed chuckled, "by the way you act one would think you've never stepped foot aboard a ship."

"As if anyone would believe _that_," the violet eyed young man returned, as he fixed his gaze upon the browning, salt water coated docks as the car began to pull in. The flood of people that suddenly filled his line of sight was surprising and Henry could tell that even his composed cousin held a slight look of surprise in his eye.

"The steerage are aplenty today, aren't they cousin?" Draco drawled out as he glanced at the ragged individuals who stood there, hands clutching their sacks and suitcases while small children clung to their legs.

The former Gryffindor merely shrugged. "They seem alright - anyway, I'm more interested in seeing the actual ship than the rats aboard it."

Draco chuckled, "too true, cousin. Too true."

* * *

_"Oh, Hermione, just wait until you see the _Titanic_!" _A petite, blue eyed and blonde haired young woman cried in exuberant French as her hands fluttered about. _"The unsinkable ship!" _

Three women were seated in a Ford auto, the interior a black leather and white and silver velvet; embalmed with the last name 'Delacour' it was obvious as to who possessed said items. In one arm of the petite blonde who had spoken, she carried with her a pile of furs and a small purse while the other two women across from her held only a purse and in the case of the brunette, two thick tombs.

_"Honestly, I don't know how you'll be able to read when we'll be riding _Titanic_," _the smaller blonde continued as a wide smile lit up her thin, beautiful face.

There was no doubt that the elder blonde before her was her sister - graceful as ice, beautiful as the glaciers in the sea - while the other, a curly haired brunette whose appearance would have been quite pretty had she not been the presence of two earthly Aphrodite's, sat primly in her seat.

She tossed her head and held onto her books tighter at the young blonde's words. _"Haven't you heard of educating yourself on sea, Gabby?"_ She teased lightly while the taller blonde smirked.

_"By educating do you mean reading those primitive novels that Papa always manages to stow away in his suitcase before leaving England?" _

The brunette eyed the blonde wearily before holding the books closer to her chest. _"They're not primitive, Fleur," _she responded. _"They represent a great deal of things within the world in which we live - for example, the economic status of England is currently just an edge above France, which is troubling most of the regions south of it as well. The American trade is steadily rising at a rate which will surpass - " _

_"Oh, Mione!" _The petite and angelic blonde across from her giggled as she folded her furs, _"the economic status of France has nothing to do with why you're holding onto those books so tightly and you know it!" _

At her words, the brunette girl blushed furiously as the regal elder Delacour sister raised an elegant brow.

_"_Indeed_, Gabrielle,"_ Fleur teased in a mocking but affectionate tone towards their companion, _"I do believe that Miss Granger has been keeping a few things from us…" _

_"Oh, hush up, the both of you!"_ The brown eyed girl retorted, trying to mask her reddened cheeks,_ "I…Dean was a perfect gentleman in allow - " _

_"So it's Dean now, is it?"_ Gabrielle said, her playful smile growing. _"Should I start sending out wedding invitations to the rest of England as well?" _

_"No, no Gabrielle! That would be crude - I'm sure Miss Granger would _much _rather have something close to a small, seaside ceremony. Wouldn't you?"_ Turning towards the now tomato red girl beside her, Fleur couldn't help but smile outright.

Giving a heated glare at her two closest friends, Hermione narrowed her eyes. _"If this trip doesn't kill me, then I shall be sure to inform Dean he already has two women who notice him very much vying for the chance to part of his wedding." _

The flatness of her voice combined with the blush upon her cheeks caused all three girls to burst out laughing, Gabrielle's a sunshine cheer, Fleur's a fairy like tinkling, and Hermione's a soothing lapping of water.

Once their laughter died down, the three girls wiped away the mirth from their eyes as a sly expression suddenly wielded itself upon the brunette girl's face.

_"I say, Fleur, I heard that the polo player and heir Viktor Krum will be riding on the Titanic…he'd make a good match for you in marriage, wouldn't you say?" _

The regal blonde merely tossed her head at such a suggestion. _"Viktor Krum? Surely you must joke, Hermione. The man can barely utter two words without frowning and I'm more than willing to assert that it's from the constant head injuries of falling off his horse."_

Gabrielle giggled at her sister's assessment. _"Don't be mean, Fleur. I heard Viktor was really nice and can make origami birds." _At those words, both girls across from her gave her blank stares while the smaller blonde blushed. _"I…heard that from Mimi Souvon before we left."_ She confessed as Hermione gave her a warm smile.

_"Mimi Souvon is a jealous little gossip who can't remember what she had for breakfast, let alone what Viktor Krum does in his spare time." _

Fleur nodded in agreement, _"indeed. And even if I do wish to marry then I intend to find a man who can not only keep a conversation with me but also relieve from the world that is society." _

Hermione gave her friend an odd look, _"society? Fleur, you_ adore _society!" _

The thin female merely smoothed down her lace dress, _"I act like I adore society, 'Minoe. The difference between actual enjoyment and a public facade is quite different."_

_"Fleur's never been much for the pubic," _Gabrielle added, _"she likes the parties and she loves dressing up but she doesn't like entreating with the people there. She thinks they're all - "_

_"Inbred snobs,"_ the blue eyed French beauty injected, folding her hands demurely in her lap while the English girl beside her raised a brow at her assessment.

Placing her own books down at the space next to her, the coarsely (compared to the two lacy French girls) Englishwoman crossed her ankles. _"So I suppose one Draco Malfoy wouldn't be of any interest to you at all?" _

_"Malfoy?"_ Fleur inquired, _"I suppose his family is one of the few who doesn't fully support inbreeding."_

_"Indded,"_ Gabrielle smiled, _"they only laud it."_

At the youngest girl's final statement of cheek, the two elder young women gave a smile as the topic easily drifted from marriage to lighter subjects - such as Milicent Beaufont's dress color and the tea to be held in New York come Wednesday afternoon after they dock.

* * *

"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable?" Inquired one Narcissa Malfoy as she and her husband stepped out from their newly built 1912 Ford model in mahogany and forest evergreen velvet and gild.

Lucius graciously offered his wife his arm as she descended down the final step of the car before he too gazed at the imposing ship before them. He mentally decided that Henry Black had been correct when he asserted that no one had ever seen a ship like this before.

"I suppose the young Mister Black had quite a few says in what made something unsinkable," Lucius commented offhandedly as he and his wife easily began to glide through the crowd, which parted before them at the due of their security.

The blonde woman before him wrinkled her nose in distaste. "All these steerage folk - coming aboard the Titanic as well?"

"I'm afraid so, love," the blonde haired Malfoy tycoon sighed, "there was so much room at the very bottom of the ship that they simply turned them into third class residencies. Though, I must say, it was a clever move on Black's part."

"Yes, yes, a good businessman - but what of the design?" The Mistress of Malfoy prodded.

"The design is just as beautiful as the gardens of Malfoy Manor, madame!" Came a loud, cheerful voice that sounded so much like one Sirius Black that both Malfoy elders had to suppress a smile.

Turning, they found young Henry Black sauntering his way towards them; his black and dark violet suit fitting him to a tee as he carried a black and silver cane in the one hand, a bundle of notebooks in the other.

"I do say so myself, I and Mr. Andrews have built you one of the finest ships to ever leave port!"

"You mean Mr. Andrews did all the designing while you sat there trying to bounce a football off your head," the Malfoy heir drawled out as he appeared from behind Henry, having given instructions to their valets as to where to place their suitcases.

Dressed in a dark gray suit edged with silver, Draco Malfoy looked every bit as imposing as his father did - and perhaps even more so with his tall stature and snake cane. The slew of cars behind him that carried all their luggage was slowly being driven away to the carry on of the ship; the hustle and bustle of people had been restrained so that there was a clear bubble for the Malfoy-Black party.

Giving a nod towards the officers, Draco began to walk beside Henry as they made their way on board.

"Tell us, Henry, how did you manage to entertain Tom Riddle into financing the building of these ships?" Lucius Malfoy inquired as they began to make their way towards the first class railing that led unto the ship.

The violet eyed male gave a grin, "Riddle? That was the easy part, Uncle - we simply showed him the designs, I drew up a few profit charts and entertained him with the notion of a grand profit margin. The building and sailing of the Olympic also helped rally his wits - and my charm, of course." Henry was quick to add which earned him an affectionate chuckle from Narcissa and a nudge on the shoulder from his cousin. Turning back to face the side of the grand ship as they made their way closer and closer, Henry gave a smile. "Welcome to the ship of dreams."

* * *

As the proud and esteemed first class Malfoy-Black party made their way unto the ship at Southampton, across the channel in Cherbourg the Delacour residents - along with their companion Hermione Granger - also eagerly awaited for the arrival of the grand Titanic ship. For to all the people in the world on the day of April 10th, 1912 was the day that a legend would be made - it would be the birth of a new era, of a new age. A time where machinery could produce Eden and where man himself could rule over all.

It was the age of arrogance and of confident foolhardiness which was encouraged by the every growing business and trade of the world - it was the building blocks of the Edwardian Age and no one could be dissuaded otherwise. The wealthy and the elite were the creme de la creme and anyone else who tried to disagree otherwise were most ostracized for their radical ideas.

Class dominance was the very thing that defined the early twentieth century and no one could be thought to do anything of it. The rich were treated as the kings, and the poor were the rats that scurried the floors; what was there to do? Nothing.

Theodore Francis Nott, historian and writer - and heir of a transcontinental railway and shipping fortune - pondered the multitude of ideas as he stared down at the half done book he had composed.

"Driver, how long before we reach Cherbourg?"

"Another thirty minutes, Master Nott."

The chestnut haired heir gave a nod as he turned back to his writing, "very well then." In his notebooks he had taken various notes on the class difference surrounding the world - of the changes and steps towards glorifying mankind the world had been on since the American Revolution. "Bloody hell," the young man sighed as he rubbed his tired and weary eyes with his chapped and raw fingertips, "I hope you designed your ship well, Mr. Andrews," he muttered as he skimmed a few passages he had hastily written, "for I intend to be complete my novel aboard."

* * *

Luna Lovegood couldn't help but admire her staterooms as she stood on her private promenade deck on Titanic. They had just shed anchor on Southampton and would be on their way to Cherbourg in only a few moments; she knew all the passengers aboard - mainly because her father was one of the biggest newspaper tycoons in England - and was eagerly awaiting the boarding of Mrs. Margaret Brown.

Now there was a woman that Luna could have tea with!

* * *

**A/N: My newest fanfiction piece! I know I haven't finished 'Child of Bass', 'Happiness by Error', or 'Red Tulips, Fair' but this just snuck up on me and I just HAD to write it! **

**This will be a 20-24 chapter story of the Titanic with the HP cast! I will do my best to integrate everyone but I will also be putting in a lot of historical facts (like most of the people I listed, Margaret Brown, Mr. Hudson Allison, Major Archibald Butt, etc. they're all REAL). **

**I will introduce the Weasley's next chapter and yes, yes Harry has been adopted by Sirius and his name has been changed to Henry. Reason being is because Lily had an affair with Regulus, Sirius's brother, and became pregnant with Harry. James abhorred his bastard son from the moment he was born and disowned him when he was two and at age three, sent him to an orphanage. Sirius rescued Harry and has made him his own son ever since. This is why Henry has violet eyes (a Black family trait for some like Bellatrix) and looks/sounds kind of like Sirius because he does have Black DNA in him. **

**THIS. IS. NOT. SLASH. Sorry! (Well, maybe I'll put in some but it won't be the majority).**

**REVIEW, please! **


	2. Chapter 1

By the time Titanic had docked in Quenstown, the passengers who had previously arrived upon Southampton and Cherbourg had already begun to explore the floating palace on the ocean. As far as the eye could see, there were vast, empty spaces of deck space for those to walk about on; the third class remained upon the Forecastle Deck or aft, marveling at the luxury provided even for them, the humble poor from the fields of the earth.

It was there that Theodore Nott, millionaire and heir, found himself seated as he observed the ragged children playing with a small leather ball, kicking it to and fro while parents linked arms and pointed at the shifts in the sea. His notebook had a few observations written down in it, but nothing too prominent that he could feature in his novel; it still surprised him by how excited these small, poverty stricken children could become when they saw something as simple as a deck chair or a painted tea cup. He had some idea of the conditions of the slums back in England but of course, being the son of Francis Nott, did not exactly provide ample opportunity to journey to and fro from Windsor to Jaywick.

Straining his eyes, Theo could just make out a small, Italian couple laughing joyfully as their son played with a yo yo, allowing the little piece of wood to flip back and forth across the faded and dirty string. The dark eyed scion gave a soft smile as he scribbled down a few more notes on foreign immigrants before peering elsewhere.

"Looking for something, mate?" Came a rough, distinctly Irish voice that caused the young heir's head to jerk upward in surprise; standing above him was a middle aged red haired man. A third class passenger, no doubt, Nott noted; from his ragged and thin brown trousers to his faded, and patched brown jacket, he was of a poorer background than even most third class passengers due to the state of his clothes but it was his hands that caught the chestnut haired male's attention.

They were covered in cuts and bruises; rough callous dotted the dry skin like wildflowers upon a hill. He had a few broken fingers that never healed properly, causing an awkward bending of fingers and missing fingernails.

"Carpenter," the man said again and Theo inwardly grimaced at having been caught observing.

"I'm terribly sorry for my staring, I apologize." Theo explained kindly as he stood up from the deck chair he had been sitting on, "Theodore Nott," he said as he stuck out his hand. The red haired man looked at him suspiciously for a fraction of a second before giving a smile and gave Theo a firm shake.

"Arthur Weasley," the man responded. "You traveling alone or…?" He paused as he looked at the man before him, "you don't explain seem like the typical third class passenger."

The novelist-to-be shrugged as he tucked his notebook under his arm, easily playing with his fountain pen. "I'm a novelist," he responded, "and I'm a bit on the odd side, I'm afraid."

The man chuckled in response. "We're all odd in some way, lad."

"Duly noted," Theo said, giving a slight nod. "I must ask, are you traveling to New York for business or pleasure?"

Arthur gave a shrug, pulling out a half smoked cigarette as he did so. "A bit of both," he said. "I'm moving my family and meself down to America - they say there's plenty of carpenter jobs needed since they're opening all those fancy stores and everybody there needs to buy a table or two. Influx or something they called it," the red haired man continued as he fished for a lighter. "To be honest with you, my kids are more excited about the trip than me wife," he chortled, "ah, thanks, lad." He nodded as Theo passed him his lighter, the latter already taking a slew of mental notes on the man's behavior.

"So you think America really is the 'golden city' as some people say?" He inquired further. This simple carpenter could potentially have his own chapter in my book, he thought with a wry smile before he saw the man peering at the engraved initials upon his lighter. "Something wrong, Mr. Weasley?" Before the man had a chance to respond, a grand ringing of the bells exploded into the air. "Time for your tea, I'm afraid," Theo noted absently as he began to cap his fountain pen and tuck it into his notebook. Giving the man a smile, the railroad heir gave a small nod. "I do hope to see you again, Mr. Weasley - and do keep the lighter."

Without another word, the chestnut haired male turned around and began walking north, to the first class arena. The red haired man scratched his head on confusion - _what in blazes was a first class man, never mind, the son of Francis Kingston Nott, doing on the third class walking deck?_

* * *

It was just around three o'clock when Draco Malfoy found himself wandering from the smoking room and to the reading room, not because he wished to read some novel but because Henry was away conversing with Thomas Andrews, the ship's co-designer, and wouldn't be back for another hour. Somewhere along the way, the Malfoy heir had spotted Blaise Zabini, the son of the wealthy retailer Alfonso Zabini and the fashion designer Kate Winters, and the two had made some seating plans at dinner together before the latter excused himself to the writing room to pen a letter to his father.

Strolling around the decadent, hand carved mahogany hallways, Draco found himself impressed with the exquisite detail and design put into this 'floating hotel' as the newspapers had deemed it. Henry had made it no secret that he had taken plans directly inlaid for the Ritz Hotel and implemented them unto the ship; he declared that he would not be spending a week upon a simple 'boat' with nothing to do other than watch gulls, and had set up a multitude of cafes, entertainment rooms, Turkish baths, and an indoor salt water swimming pool.

Narcissa Malfoy had taken to the beautiful Cafe Parisien and together with the Countess of Rothes, spent most of their time taking tea and talking about the latest fashions there. His father, had easily found John Jacob Astor IV, the American millionaire, and the two - along with Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon and Colonel Archibald Gracie IV - had taken to the smoking rooms like a fish to water. Draco sometimes joined them in their conversations about politics and business; Astor was throughly impressed with the young heir of Malfoy and they had been in talks of some joint venture. Only after J. Bruce Ismay, the White Star Line's managing director, had joined them did Draco excuse himself.

He found himself unable to stand the presence of Ismay - not only because of his constant boasting - which, if he had any merit, Draco would be impressed by - but considering the man looked and acted like a blithering idiot had incensed the blonde scion. Stepping inside the main foyer, he found himself staring up at the Grand Staircase; the staircase had originally been Henry's idea but had been implemented by some Irish worker of some sort and staring up at it now, Draco found himself forgiving his cousin for his constant working hours and missing of several important events.

The staircase was breathtaking.

Hand carved wooden oak that encircled the foyer like two snakes curving outward into a large, circling staircase on either side. It fluidly curved up in a spiral leading to higher floors; in the center of the grand staircase, above the first set of elegant, curved stairs, was a mahogany clock surrounded by hand carved angels and a gilded, golden time teller. It was the grandest sight Draco had seen so far on the ship and he had an odd feeling that it would be _the_ grandest sight ever to be conceived for a ship.

Taking a few steps upward, his gaze transfixed upon the hand carved woodwork, he found himself knocked leftward and stumbling left for a moment. Breaking his gaze from the clock, he saw a petite blonde of barely five feet had fallen into him while no doubt walking up the stairs as well.

As she tilted her face upward, her hands already fluttering in a tell tale sign of apology, he found himself at a loss for words for the first time in his life: the girl standing before him, all long, silverly blonde hair, wide, doe blue eyes and perfect, creamy skin was no doubt the epitome of perfection. She was the hand carved angels upon the clock, taken by the gods and given the breath of life; dressed in a lacy white and baby blue silk gown, her cheeks flushed a rosy red from embarrassment Draco felt himself leaning towards the girl, steading her hands.

"Are you all right, Miss…?"

She blushed once more.

"Delacour, monsieur, Gabrielle Delacour," she responded, her voice housing the lilting tone that was so common in the language of love. Peeking up from her long, loose waves of hair she offered a shy smile. "And I am very much all right, mer - thank you."

"Mais bien sur," Draco responded, his accent a perfect provincial French as he gave her a rare, Malfoy smile - one that reached his eyes.

She stared slightly surprised at his knowledge of French but one look at his expensive clothing and proud standing, and it was not difficult to believe that his wealth had provided ample tutors to educate him in global affairs.

"Your French borders upon perfection, monsieur," she said, giving him a smile.

He raised a brow playfully. "Borders? May I ask what it would take for the mademoiselle to admit that my French has already reached perfection?"

A wave of boldness washed over the usually shy Gabrielle as she looked at his dead in the eye and gave a cheeky smile. "Why, escorting me to supper of course - that is where I shall test to see how well you can speak." Immediately, her eyes widened. "I…I did not mean," she began but was cut off my Draco's chuckle which caused her to blush again - this time, a deep rose red.

He offered her his arm as the two began to walk up the stairs and closer to the grand clock above. "My pride has not been wounded yet, mademoiselle - do not fret," he said with a smile.

"You are a Malfoy, I suspect I shall have to try very hard in order to even spark an insult, monsieur."

_Oh, merde! _Gabrielle mentally cried, _what has come over me? _

But instead of the aloof dismissal she expected, he rewarded her with an amused smile. "Do tell me that you are not planning to batter me further, mademoiselle! I do not believe a privilege like that is just given to anyone." He winked.

The younger Delacour girl allowed a burst of laughter to escape her lips, momentarily stunning the Malfoy heir even further.

_Her laughter…it's like sunshine_, he said mentally before shaking himself of those thoughts. By god, he was starting to sound like some lovesick fool and he'd only just met the girl! A girl who seemed so very full of laughter and happiness…he was drawn to her…how...odd.

Breaking Draco from his musings was Gabrielle's leaning into him as they found themselves standing right beside the ornate time teller, the smile that she wore seemed to indicate a strange, incandescent happiness bubbling within her and he found himself unable to hold back a small smile of his own. Truth be told, Draco Malfoy had smiled more in that moment than he had during his entire seven years at Hogwarts.

Brushing back her hair, her blue eyes danced in mirth. "I shall work very hard for that privilege then, monsieur," she resounded, causing a smirk to appear upon his handsome countenance and causing Gabrielle's heart to skip a beat. "You will not make it too difficult for me?" She asked.

The blonde pretended to mull over her question before she gently elbowed him, a playful smile appearing.

"Well if the mademoiselle is so adamant and her words already prepared, then I must say that I shall have lower the burden that such a task bears upon others," he mocked dramatically, watching with some pride and…happiness?…when she laughed again at his haughty tone.

"Then I would very much like to see you again tonight, monsieur." She added, this time her voice softening slightly and she quickly averted her eyes downward. This was the most forward she had ever been with anyone and had her mother been here she would've ordered Gabrielle to be locked in her room until they arrived in New York!

When she felt warm, firm fingers tilting her chin upward, the blush upon her cheeks spread and she was horrified that the handsome Malfoy heir was looking down upon her reddened face so completely that it only furthered her embarrassment.

"You, mademoiselle, need only ask and I shall comply," he responded, startling both himself and her with his quiet, but passionate words. When her large, ocean blue eyes fixed themselves upon his gray orbs, she saw a sparkle of mischief glimmer through them. "And your blush can always aid you in your conquest to do so." He added cheekily. Gabrielle blinked when she felt his lips graze her hand and heard a soft, "A bientot…until tonight, mademoiselle," and then as she looked around, she saw him casually making his way out towards the promenade deck.

Without even thinking, she began quickly climbing up the stairs to her and her sister's suite - this was the perfect time to set vanity as a prompt matter of the utmost urgency! Draco Malfoy had just asked (well, she did asked, but Gabrielle wasn't looking at technicalities) her, little Gabrielle Delacour, to dine with him during supper!

_Oh, merde,_ Gabrielle mused dreamily as she continued walking, _Fleur, Hermione and I were so very wrong! He doesn't look inbred at all and his voice and his charm, his manner…no,_ the young Delacour decided with a wide smile, _he is most certainly not an inbred._

* * *

"I say, Black, this is a rather gargantuan masterpiece you and Andrews have created," Benjamin Guggenheim noted offhandedly as he, Henry Black, Thomas Andrews, and Edward Austin Kent strolled the promenade deck.

The violet eyed male gave a wide smile, "thank you very much, Guggenheim," he responded. "I told Andrews here that deck space would be of the highest priority - and he didn't think it was a necessity." He joked, turning to the usually stern faced builder who actually managed a small smile.

"It was your arrogance that caused all the delays, mind," the thirty year old architect replied abruptly, his Irish accent prominent. Turning towards Kent he rolled his eyes as her jerked a thumb towards Henry, "I tell you Kent, the boy here is brilliant but he's also one of those people that you work with once to win fame and then never go near again."

Kent sniggered as Henry protested. "I resent that, Andrews! You know as well as I that my arrogance had nothing to do with the builder's pace!"

Before Andrews could retort, the industrialist that was Guggenheim had already shot off on a different topic, gesturing to the life boats they passed. "I declare, my boy, was it also you who thought of adding the life boats?"

Henry grimaced at the stacks of deployable white boats, "I didn't want to but Andrews and the entire damn oceanic safety squad got onto my tail to do so. Waste of deck space if you ask me." The older man nodded his head in agreement while Kent observed the detailed rigs, "well, it'll keep the little ones without worry and keep the women from fainting," Andrews quipped, earning laughs from the all the men around.

As they made their way toward the lounge, Henry spotted a smiling Draco and his eyes narrowed in curiosity at his cousin's unusual expression.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, lads," the former Gryffindor apologized, "but it seems I've spotted my cousin and by the looks of it, he's smiling which means he has done something utterly deplorable and I must find out what." Giving a small bow the the chuckling men, Henry received a few more claps on the back and a "well done, old sport!" before he made his way into the wood paneled, inlaid mother-of-pearl lounge.

Walking right up to his fair haired cousin, Henry easily grasped a cigar from one of the servers standing nearby before pulling his lighter out from his breast coat pocket. Draco appeared to have sensed Henry's presence for he promptly sat down on a chaise with one directly across from him, waving for one of the waiters to bring over some brandy.

"Well, cousin o'mine, I have never seen you walk with so much a spring in your step so if you have contracted a terrible disease that will end your life in a few moments, then I will play the concerned cousin in hopes that you will leave me Malfoy Manor's hunting grounds." The Black heir said in mock seriousness as he sat down as well, puffing on his cigar when he saw the gray eyed male roll his eyes.

"You're full of idiocy sometimes, Black. I wonder each and every day how you make your fortune being as you are," he stated dryly as the server quickly scurried away after leaving two tumblers and a scotch bottle upon the oblong table between them.

The violet eyed engineer grinned, "I'm just charming and brilliant - don't deny your cousin's talent, Drake."

The two cousins shared a chuckle together before Henry crossed his ankle over his knee, puffing on his cigar a few more times before eyeing Draco with genuine curiosity. "Come now, seriously cousin, tell me what's happened."

A pause filled the air before Draco polished off his scotch and poured himself a new glass. "What do you know of the Delacour's, cousin?"

Henry raised a brow, "the Delacour's? You don't mean the French Delacour's do you, Draco? They're the presidential family of France! Jacques Delacour the p - "

"Yes, yes, I know of President Delacour but what I'm asking if of the two girls. Their daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle."

Throughly confused, Henry continued to puff on his cigar before he spoke. "Rumors and little else," he admitted, "other than they are the great French beauties. Why?"

"Because I have asked Gabrielle Delacour to join us for supper at the dining saloon tonight." The blonde stated and Henry knew immediately what his cousin meant.

There was an unspoken rule between the two to never, on any such occasion, be involved with the woman that your cousin had been with/taken interest in/courting (ed). In all honesty, though, the subject matter had never been a problem for the two as their tastes in women were vastly different and from the reports, Henry had always felt himself more inclined to the elder Delacour, Fleur. There was an icy aura about her that seemed forced and it intrigued him; in the back of his mind, he also knew that the ebullient younger daughter would help draw Draco from his usually stoic and businessman like countenance.

Giving his cousin a genuine smile, Henry raised up his own glass of scotch. "Then I have nothing to say to you other than congratulations," he nodded before he downed his tumbler in one large gulp.

The blonde looked amused for a moment. "And who do you plan to take, Black? You can't take Mother because Father is escorting her and I highly doubt you want to dabble with the new money folk, now do you?"

Henry glared at his cousin before placing down his scotch tumbler and puffed on his cigar for a few moments more, right as the lounge music shifted to a rather lackadaisical tune. Suddenly, he grinned. "You taking Miss Delacour?" Henry inquired as Draco gave a nod, "then I'll take the other Miss Delacour."

"You wish to escort Miss Fleur Delacour out to supper?" The gray eyed former Slytherin inquired skeptically, "we have but an hour left, Black. If you want to ask, I suggest you hurry."

"Always one step ahead of you cousin," Henry said as he stood up, snuffing out his cigar in the dish next to him before he began to stride away.

"Hey, Black!" Draco suddenly called, causing the violet eyed male to turn around. The blonde gave a smirk, "I shall take you on a bet: if you can get Miss Fleur Delacour to be your dinner escort, then I will go down to steerage for fifteen minutes. And if you lose, then you shall."

The Black heir seemed to ponder the bet for a few moments before a grin appeared on his handsome face. "I'll take you up on that, Malfoy," he said as he confidently strode out of the lounge, leaving a smirking Draco behind.

* * *

Hermione Granger was irritated. Yes, indeed she was. The moment that her childhood friend Gabrielle Delacour had burst into the doors of their shared suite, she had been frantic: apparently one Draco Lucius Malfoy had inquired if he could escort her to dinner and now the beautiful Frenchwoman wad desperate to look the part of a Malfoy heir's supper date.

_Utterly ridiculous_, Hermione mused as she began tucking away the rejected dresses Gabrielle had strewn upon every available surface. Fleur was still out taking tea with the Countess and an intriguing character named Luna Lovegood and her friend, Margaret Brown. Hermione would've called for the elder Delacour for help but she also knew that Fleur was without an escort and didn't wish to impose any further.

She adored the two Delacour sisters like they were her own and knew without a shadow of doubt that despite their beauty, they were kind and empathetic people with the greatest of hearts. But she also had to admit that there were disadvantages to being friends with some of the most renewed beauties in the world - she, more or less, often became forgotten in the shadows by men and suitors, who much preferred the delicate, fairy like beauty of the Delacour sisters.

It wasn't as if Hermione was vying for anyone to come and sweep her off her feet, _no, certainly to,_ she asserted firmly. She had her books and her journals and that was more of a compensation for the lack of formal courtiers and suitors that she possessed (or rather, did not possess).

Picking up a discarded lace scarf, Hermione chuckled to herself when she saw Gabrielle hurriedly trying to decide between sapphires and diamonds and tried to make light of the situation. She, herself, would most likely not be dining in the saloon; with her lacking an escort, it would most likely be a hinderance to Fleur and Gabrielle. The Englishwoman had no doubt that Fleur would be able to find an escort by the time the dining trumpets sounded and that though the two sisters would then urge her to join them in the festivities, she would simply look out of place in her plain English clothes and lack of a date.

Some time ago, Fleur had offered to go with Hermione to Paris to purchase some gowns but Hermione had declined. Her English ginghams and cottons were more than practical for her position - she was a governess who stayed with the Delacour's during the winter and spring months - and she had no need for frills and laces, something that would no doubt provoke her when she was commuting to work.

Work. That was something Hermione prided herself in; ever since her parents, Dr. Lloyd Edward Granger and writer Jean Elizabeth Granger, had passed away due to a terrible bout of pneumonia, Hermione had taken up a position as a governess and tutor for some of France's most prominent and influential families. She adored the children and young woman she worked with and they in turn loved their Miss Mione; she held no false hope that some Mr. Rochester would come riding up to her (though Jane Eyre was her favorite novel) and whisk her away to happiness.

She was already happy - of that Hermione was quite certain of herself. She had wonderful friends, an adoptive family of sorts, a rewarding job, and her health in tact. So she may never find herself married and with children but that was neither for here nor now - she was sure of her capabilities and that was all that mattered.

"Oh, Mione, I've been horrible to you!" Gabrielle suddenly cried, causing Hermione to jolt out of her revere; the petite blonde had suddenly rushed to Hermione, blushing profusely, as she began to take the fabrics from the bushy haired girl's hands. "Look at me! Gawking over myself while you're left to clean the room…oh, dear," the blonde murmured as she began to collect the shoes she'd kicked from the boxes and the hats that had spilled from their pinstriped cases.

Hermione smiled. "Really, Gabby, it's all right," she intoned, taking the things from Gabrielle. "I know how much you're looking forward to dining with Master Malfoy and I won't rob you of this chance - who knows," the brunette teased, "he could be your future husband."

The blue eyed beauty beamed, "I don't know about that, Mione, but - "

"Oh, yes you do and you're practically jumping where you stand right now, Gabrielle Delacour." Hermione teased again, "now you go on and put your jewels on. I'll be back in a few minutes to do your hair - just let me see if I can sneak in some of Fleur's diamond quills for your hair."

Gabrielle's face immediately split into the widest smile Hermione had ever seen before she faltered slightly. "Are you sure you don't mind, Mione?" The youngest Delacour inquired worriedly, "I don't want you to feel like you have to because you're my best friend Mione and - "

"Nonsense," Hermione said as she began to make her way towards the bedroom door, "I'll be back in a few moments with the quills. You will quite literally be my masterpiece tonight, Gabrielle Delacour!"

"Why don't you come to supper with us, Mione?" Gabrielle pleaded, "you're so very beautiful and Fleur and I have just been _dying_ to get our hands on you and…fairy tale you up!"

The older brunette chuckled at the blonde's word choice and shook her head, "thank you Gabby but I'm quite content here with my books. I think Aristotle and I need to have a little chat by the fire place, followed by a quick read or two from Miss Emily Bronte." She said seriously as she made her way out, the sound of Gabrielle's laughter resounding through the air.

No, Hermione decided, she most certainly did not need a man by her side to make her happy.

Crossing out of the hallway, she began walking down towards the C corridor, reviewing Aristotle's philosophies in her head. So preoccupied she was with the ancient configurations of yonder that she found her foot stepping right unto her skirt, and her body tumbling forward into a rather hard and…warm?…surface before her.

"Pardon me, miss. I do not believe I was aware of where I was going," a deep, rich voice intoned causing the brunette's eyes to snap upward.

Before her was a tall, lean man with dark, gelled hair and deep, swarthy skin. His eyes were an olive tone and his smile was right in center, as charming as the voice he had greeted her with.

"Miss?" The man inquired again, this time with a slight tinge of worry in his tone.

_Why, he's got quite the lovely voice_, Hermione mused before quickly snapping her head up.

"I'm fine, sir, I apologize for my clumsiness," she responded politely before trying to walk her way past him.

"My name is Blaise Zabini, miss," he said and she felt his footsteps following her. "Please forgive me for the forwardness by which I am taking this conversation but I was wondering if - "

"Blaise! Why you old dog! Tailing down Hermione Granger to try and get to Miss Delacour, eh?" Came another voice, one that Hermione didn't recognize but the two of them spun around at once.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the Italian man's face lighting up in an amused but aggravated smile as the two greeted each other. The man who had appeared was around Blaise's height, leanly built and dressed in a dark black and violet suit that matched his exotic eye color. Suddenly, the man turned towards her and she found herself at a loss for words when she recognized the silverly 'H.S.B.' stitched unto his jacket lapel.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Blaise old boy but have you any idea where a Miss Fleur Delacour is? I've searched this damned ship forty two ways to Sunday and I still can't seem to find her."

Just as the handsome Zabini master was about to open his mouth, Hermione stepped forward.

"Miss Delacour is currently taking tea with the Countess of Rothes and Miss Luna Lovegood and her companion Mrs. Brown. They'll most likely be at the Verandah Cafe." She said matter-of-factly before giving the violet eyed male a small nod.

"Well, looks like you've hit the jackpot then, Blaise," the man said teasingly before giving Hermione a cheeky wink and small bow. "I thank you kindly, Miss Granger. See you at the saloon, Blaise!"

Without so much as another word, the violet eyed male left leaving a thoroughly confused Hermione Granger with one question: how on earth did he know her name?

* * *

**A/N: Second chapter! I know, so fast? What can I say - I went into a frenzy and drew out an entire outline of the story, so my only job is to type up the chapters! I really, really fell in love with this idea after watching a Titanic documentary on the Smithsonian Channel - seriously, the actuality as to why the Titanic crashed is really interesting and if anyone is interested in oceanography, you should really check out the documentary. **

**So yes, I've made Henry out to be a bit of the boisterous playboy because that's how I envision Harry if he grew up with fun and cool godfather-turned-father Sirius Black and befriended Draco Malfoy. **

**And in case you haven't noticed, this will be a Draco/Gabrielle; Henry/Fleur; and Blaise/Hermione pairing! Theo will play an extremely important role but the other HP cast won't play too much a part until well, you know...the sinking...**

**Please review! This story has literally become my baby and I would really love feedback/critiques! **


	3. Chapter 2

Henry Sirius Black glanced down at his pocket watch only to see the ebony hand had already hit the elegantly scripted '6' upon the face. He groaned. It was already half past five and he still had no sighting of Miss Fleur Delacour. He'd practically combed out every inch of deck space in the first class area (he had never been so thankful for all the drills Madame Hooch had made him perform) and double checked the reception area, lounge, reading room, grand staircase, and even the writing room.

But the beautiful and eldest Delacour sister was no where to be found.

"Damn it all," he muttered silently as he prowled about the relatively empty promenade again, eyes searching for any sign of silverly blonde hair and tall stature. Unlike her young and petite sister, Gabrielle, Fleur Delacour was a tall, willowy woman who could pass off as one of Lady Duff-Gordan's newly trained models.

Slowing his pace, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket (inwardly cursing himself for not bringing along a few Cuban cigars) before reaching into his pocket to pull out his lighter.

"Do you have another cigarette to spare, monsieur?" A voice inquired behind him.

"Sure," he replied casually, not even bothering to turn around before he opened up the carton again, "I'm not sure what you smoke, but Manoli Dandy is one of the best brands out there."

"Really?" The voice inquired, and Henry could hear the skepticism.

Giving a roguish grin to himself, his eyes flickered to the small picture stamped upon the carton's front. "Sure! The actual cigarette _is_ pretty average but it's the cover that cracks me up each time - the gentleman on the front looks akin to my Uncle Rodolphus whenever Aunt Bella discovers that he has been trying to sneak out from another of her parties." As he lifted his hand to show the woman before him the case box, his violet eyes found themselves locked upon two pools of sapphire blue.

Fleur Delacour.

"Is that really all?" She asked, not noticing her young man's silence (and stare). Peering closer, she gave a nonchalant shrug, "I must say he looks rather uncomfortable with all those frills and laces - and such an odd looking square monocle! I do believe - "

"Where have you been hiding for the past forty five minutes?" Henry Black suddenly interrupted, curiosity bursting from every cell in his body and his mind completely forgetting that this was girl he had to woo into taking to dinner later on.

Raising an elegant silver brow, she looked up at the confused violet eyed male's face with a mask of disdain and cold indifference. "I _beg_ your pardon, monsieur?"

Henry had to bite his tongue from retorting something along the lines of "begging for me before you know what I can do in the bedroom?" before pulling out a cigarette and placing it into her hand. Without even asking, he waited until she placed the cigarette into her mouth before lighting it, giving her a wide smile when he saw her slightly surprised expression. "I'm not really one for tact," Henry said.

"I can see that," she responded, easily puffing out an elegant billow of white smoke. "But may I inquire why you're telling me your faults at so soon a stage? I'm sure it wouldn't take too long for me to find what your vices are, based on how loose your tongue already is - and we haven't even had the evening wine yet."

A wry grin made its way upon the Black heir's countenance before he leaned against the railing, eyeing her form which had been bathed in the setting sun's rays. He tried his best not to think of how closely the cigarette smoking Frenchwoman resembled a coquettish Venus but the more he tried to press those thoughts to the very back of his mind, the more they bounced to the forefront - with a renewed vigor each time.

Giving up, the Black heir shrugged as he gestured towards the sunset.

"I had planned to ask you this in a very formal, very polite way in a much more appropriate atmosphere but considering the time and…" with a small wave of his hand, he pointed towards the rest of the emptied promenade, "how I spent forty minutes running back and forth across the ship trying to find you - "

"I was in the Verandah Cafe, monsieur," she responded haughtily though Henry could detect the faintest trace of amusement in her tone.

_She may think I'm an idiot, but at least she thinks I'm an _amusing_ idiot. _

"Right well, I just…right," he continued on nonchalantly as he took a smoke, refusing to admit - even to himself - that he sounded very much like an inexperienced schoolboy. "I would very much like, Miss Delacour, to be the lucky gentleman to escort you to the A la Carte Restaurant to dine this evening." He finished, giving a small nod as he blew some more smoke from his lips. His eyes lifted upward slightly to see the small smile appearing upon her face before she promptly squashed it down.

Flickering some cigarette ash into the roaring sea below, she maintained her calm expression. "You're not one for formalities are you, monsieur…?"

"You really do not know who I am?" Henry asked, incredulous.

She rolled her eyes, "despite the level of fame you believe you have acquired, I myself find that I have not become acquainted with whatever debauchery you have performed so yes, I really do not know who you are for if I have, then I would not have asked you _who you are_."

In spite Fleur's sharp tongue, there was a sort of dry humor surrounding her that made each blow she delivered just a little softer. Fleur Delacour may not have been nearly as open and welcoming and heart-on-her-sleeve as her younger sister, Gabrielle, but Henry found himself delighted that she was not.

Straightening up, he offered her another charming smile - one that usually had girls blushing - but found Fleur's creamy skin tone remained unchanged. "Henry Sirius Black at your service, madame," he stated, clicking his heels and giving a mock bow. "Son of Sirius Orion Black, the English shipping and trade magnet, and resident prince of debauchery in London, England."

He raised his head, expecting her to have some light of recognition in her eyes but there was only a small smirk. "Don't tell me I have to call you by that entire title you've just given me, Monsieur Black, for if you do then I can say right now that this will be a very short conversation."

He grinned at her blunt answer.

"Well, usually I have people going about saying just _half_ but considering that you are a special case…I suppose you may call me Henry."

"Just Henry?"

He gave a nod. "Just Henry."

"Well then 'just Henry', I expect you to want to have an answer from me by now, oui?"

"'Want' is such a strong word, Miss Delacour. I prefer…desire." He responded, his violet eyes lighting up at the double meaning of the word as a sly smile appeared on his face.

Fleur merely flicked the remainder of the cigarette out into the sea before allotting him the smallest of smiles in return. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to do something for me in return before I agree."

He raised a brow, "and that would be…?"

"Find an escort for my companion, Miss Hermione Granger."

Henry barely even appeared disgruntled by her request and simply quirked his lips upward, "is that all? Finding an escort for Miss Granger?"

Fleur gave a nod.

"Yes."

"And then you shall be _my_ escort for this evening…?"

She rolled her eyes at his need for a confirmation and bit down on her tongue to keep from smiling, "yes, monsieur. Then I will be all yours." His eyebrows shot up at her words and she found herself fighting down a blush as she hastily corrected herself. "For the evening. To escort to dinner."

"Ah well," he shrugged, "I will do my duty to my utmost best, madame!" Henry declared with a mock salute, "but you may wish to inform me as to where she is lodging…"

And for the first time in Fleur Delacour's life, she found that her eyes had lit up with a friendly amusement for a man within her own social circle.

* * *

Ten minutes later and Henry Black was not amused.

"Oh bloody hell," the Gryffindor huffed under his breath as he combed the first class suites in search of Blaise Zabini - the boy who had attended Hogwarts School with himself and Draco during their younger years.

Opening up Draco's suite with the bronze key the steward had given him, Henry found Draco decked out in his evening wear and tying his bow tie with ease. The blonde raised an eyebrow at Henry's abrupt entrance before giving a smirk.

"Oh please Henry, simply walk in upon my suite as I am dressing - who needs for knocking in such a primitive society such as ours?"

The violet eyed male merely grunted in response as he collapsed down into a lounging chair near Draco's mirror.

"I give up, Drake. I just give up."

"Already? Dinner doesn't start for another fifteen minutes and you really wish to appear not only dateless but also have to contort with the plebeians for a quarter of an hour come tomorrow?" The gray eyed Slytherin inquired incredulously as he began to adjust the collar of his starched white shirt.

Henry gave a baleful glare upward at his cousin before shaking his head and pulling a cigarette out. "No. I have convinced Miss Delacour to allow me to escort her. However, it appears that she has a sense of democracy within her and has somehow decided to implement America's idealism before we've even reached Liberty Isle!"

"Don't tell me she kneed you in the balls and then made off, did she?" The blonde sniggered as he stood in front of her mirror, "because if she did then I must cajole her into regaling me with _that _tale. Just wait until the headlines get wind of it, cousin: Henry Black viciously denied by Delacour Heiress by way of Furious Force." At that, Draco broke out into a full fledged burst of laughter as he continued to inspect his suit for imperfections. Shaking his head, he turned towards his surprisingly broody cousin with an amused smirk. "Finally in too deep?"

"Hardly!" The violet eyed Black snorted, "she wishes for me to find an escort for her companion, a Miss Hermione Granger - whoever in hell she may be - and the only available escort I can think of is Blaise Zabini but the damned fool's somehow disappeared into the bowels of the ship!"

Draco couldn't contain his snigger at his cousin's desperate words. "You're playing the matchmaker? You - Henry Sirius Black - completely following the commands of a mere _girl_?" The gray eyed Slytherin scoffed, "I cannot wait until Uncle Sirius hears of this. He'll probably blast it all over the front page of The New York Daily."

"You wouldn't happen to know where Zabini is, would you?" Henry inquired, completely bypassing his cousin's taunting words as crossed his ankle over his knee, a look of contemplation shadowing his handsome features. When Draco gave no answer, Henry's eyes flickered upward to see his cousin nonchalantly adjusting his cummerbund and smoothing his tails. His eyes narrowed. "You know where he is, don't you Malfoy?"

"I never said that. If I recall, I do not believe I've said anything at all," the blonde responded, voice flat, as he continued the examination of his suit.

"Oh cousin…" Henry began in a sing-song voice, causing the blonde to cringe inwardly, "I do believe that now is the time that Uncle Lucius would just _love_ to learn who lost his favorite pair of emerald and silver cuff links on a certain train not too long ago…the very same pair that Aunt Narcissa gave him for their _first wedding anniversary_…shame if he found that you'd accidentally knocked them out of a window before you arrived in Prague."

The Malfoy heir paled. "You wouldn't." He stated, his glare accusatory.

Henry smirked. "Well, you know me…it may just slip out in conversation…I've always been known to be a bit of rascal when it comes to keeping secrets, cousin o'mine."

The two young males stood there for a moment before Henry began to rock back and forth on his heels, casually whistling the Blue Danube while trying his best to fight down the growing smirk upon his face. When Draco still remained unmoving, the violet eyed gentleman began to fiddle with his own gold cufflinks, causing the blonde to blanche and finally, concede.

"All right, all right!" He cried in aggravation, "Zabini's in the writing room, composing a letter or two to his old m - " Before the blonde could even finish, the dark haired Black had already ducked out from the room, barely giving a word of thanks.

Blinking, the tall, gray eyed society man turned back to his mirror, adjusting his bow tie one last time. "Bloody fool," he muttered under his breath. "I lost those cuff links while on a train to _Paris_ not Prague…"

* * *

Blaise Zabini found himself coolly content as he stepped out of the grandiose writing room; his fingers perfectly free of ink and having the faintest scent of paper and hazelnut wood. Casually turning left to B deck, Zabini had already decided beforehand that he would arrive at the supper alone. After all, Daphne - his darling fiancee - would most certainly not be pleased to hear that he had been around any single women during the trip to America and Blaise had no intention of earning her ire.

"I do wonder who the girl Draco escorting is," he muttered under his breath as he made another left, walking into a familiar hallway of embossed mahogany and swan lamps. Clasping his hands behind his back, the Italian stood erect and gave a soft smile when he saw his suite number coming into view; a good glass of brandy was exactly what he needed and -

"By the lords of all creation! ZABINI!" Came a frantic voice and before the green eyed Italian could even blink, a blur of black velvet and dark violet passed before his eyes.

A sudden 'thud' registered itself to the Zabini heir's ears before he suddenly realized that Henry Black had actually _pinned_ him onto the hallway wall.

"Wha - Black? What on earth are you doing? Have you gone _mad_?" The swarthy skinned man demanded, voice filled with surprise and irritation at the violet eyed fanatic before him. Giving the Black heir a hard shove, Blaise managed to disentangle himself from the wall, casually brushing off what little dirt had come into contact with his designer suit. "Would you now like to talk since I am no longer _pinned to a wall_?" The Zabini heir demanded sarcastically when he saw that Black was still eyeing him intently.

Henry gave an irritated huff. "Zabini, I need a favor - "

"So ramming me into the suite wall was the best way you could go about asking it?"

"No!" The Gryffindor snapped, crossing his arms, "you're just damned hard to find! What is it with people disappearing aboard this ship anyhow? I say, next time Andrews - "

"Your point, Black? I have a meal to be attending." The Italian cut in.

Black immediately stopped his rambling, and his eyes turned pleading. "Blaise listen to me, and listen to me well: I need you to escort a Miss Hermione Granger to the supper tonight. Please."

The green eyed male merely arched a brow. "No."

"Wha - why in high hills not?" Henry sputtered.

The dark haired Italian gave him a 'are you mentally sane' look before answering.

"I'm _engaged_, Black. Daphne - "

" - is NOT on board." Henry cut in smoothly, "besides, you're just taking the girl to the saloon, sitting next to her and that's it. I doubt that even _your_ charms can cause the girl to try and jump you at any point during the night." He finished sarcastically.

Blaise looked at Henry suspiciously, "since when did you become concerned with my social standing?"

"Since never. Have not been and never will be."

"Then _why_ do you insist on - "

"Because if this Miss Granger does not have an escort to the meal tonight then…well, then…" the usually proud man suddenly turned his head down, muttering the last phrase with irritation before snapping his head up. "Well?" He demanded.

Blaise sighed. "Well, if I had heard your reasoning then I would very well consider it!" He responded, pulling his pocket watch from his breast coat pocket. "And you better hurry up - the evening meal begins in promptly fifteen minutes and - "

"I need you to take Miss Granger otherwise Miss Delacour will not attend with me!" Henry finally burst out, his face expressionless and lips in a furious scowl.

Blaise blinked.

"You searched all over the Titanic to find me so that I can escort Miss Delacour's companion to the dinner because you wish to take Miss Delacour?"

"Well…yes."

A pause.

Henry glared.

The lamp to Blaise's right glowed.

His pocket watch ticked.

And then the high class Italian heir suddenly chuckled, shaking his head with aggravated amusement. Looking down at the young man whom he had attended Hogwarts with, he couldn't help but feel a brotherly bond with the dark haired Henry Black. The playboy of England who had never lacked a date or escort, had now spent what appeared to be a frantic _hour_ searching the ship for one girl when he could have had his pick of the lot with just a snap of his fingers.

_Perhaps the boy is finally growing up_, Blaise mused before finally giving a nod.

"All right," he agreed, suppressing another chuckle when he saw how the violet eyed male's shoulders sagged with relief. "Just tell me where I may find her and - " Blaise broke off when Henry practically began man handling him towards the right hall.

"She's on C deck! Sharing a room with Gabrielle Delacour, and now when you see her, make sure you be polite. She's a prude about politeness from what Fleu - er, Miss Delacour's told me. And have something witty to say as well, she's an intellectual who…" as Henry began a tangent on exactly what Blaise should say, the only thought passing through the Italian's mind was _he's gone absolutely mad_.

* * *

**A/N: Some reviewers have alerted me on my wordiness and my tendency to overdo sentences so here I have tried my very best to make things not so superfluous. **

**Like I said, I welcome the criticism (and yes, I said criticism. By that I do NOT mean bashing/cyber bullying me) and you can be as nit-picky as you'd like - I'm the one who's learning. **

**After I finish this fic, I plan to go back and edit my previous two chapters because after I re-read them, I must say, they are somewhat horrendous. **

**And I know these chapters may seem a tad boring, but I need the build up! I mean, it wouldn't be very realistic is Fleur and Henry just declared their undying love for each other, now would it? **

**Next up: the dinner, Theo, and Miss Ginny Weasley. **

**Review, please. **


	4. Chapter 3

"I hate you, Black, I bloody well hate you," Blaise Zabini muttered under his breath as he awaited below the Grand Staircase for one Miss Hermione Granger. After practically plowing into the poor girl half an hour ago, he'd clumsily inquired if she would join him for dinner. That, of course, only furthered her suspicions that Henry Sirius Black hadn't just randomly known who she was and she had made Blaise squirm a fair amount before she conceded.

Of course, that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for him - for, as Blaise glanced down at his gold pocket watch - it had been fifteen minutes since Draco and Henry had both left. The two of them looked like the luckiest bastards on the ship, each escorting a beautiful Delacour sister - one elegant, icy, and beautiful like sea glass whilst the other was dainty, fay-like, and exuding ebullience.

Damn it all.

Blaise had been a forced witness in the sweet kiss one Draco Malfoy had placed upon Gabrielle Delacour's hand as well as the withering - but amused - glance Miss Fleur had shot to Henry Black.

It wasn't as if Blaise wasn't happy for his two friends - he was rather delighted that both playboys hadn't shown up with a harem in tow - but the fact of it was, the cost of their happiness was at _his_ expense. All he wanted was for a nice, quaint supper at the A La Carte Restaurant with a few other acquaintances, share some wine and tales, enjoy a chocolate soufflé…was that really too much to ask? Despite being as wealthy as he was, Mr. Blaise Zabini was _not_ in any way an ostentatious man. He was regal without being gaudy, commanding but with poise - he cared for the finer things in life, yes, but he was thoughtful in the execution of such acts.

He never felt the need to own fifteen prize race horses as Henry did - seven would do just fine for him, thank you very much. He never felt the inclination to obtain a vast collection of pocket squares (ahem, Draco) - just a neat hundred was perfectly fine. Honestly, Blaise mused to himself, he was a very simple man when it came to earthly pleasures so why in the name of all that was good was _he_ the one standing below a flight of stairs waiting for a girl he barely knew to arrive down for dinner?

_Because Henry Black can be a damned good speaker when he puts his mind to it_, his head mentally screamed at him while the tan skinned male gave a frown. _It's nearly a quarter past seven…even for fashionably late this is cutting it_.

Eyeing the curved hall that would lead to the Restaurant, Blaise clasped his hands behind his back, trying his best to maintain his facade of a collected and calm escort.

"'Mione'll be down, don't worry," Gabrielle Delacour had assured him after she'd descended down the stairs. "She's just…very reluctant to do so."

Fleur had all but snorted at her sister's statement. "You mean she wishes to hide away in the suite all day," turning to Blaise, her expression icy, Fleur had appraised him carefully. "Miss Granger is a very wonderful young lady and you would do well to treat her like the gentleman that Mr. Black is not." She stated coolly, causing Blaise to crack a smile.

"I most certainly _am _a gentleman!" Henry had all but whined back. As if to prove his point, he gallantly held his arm out for Fleur, "here," he stated, his voice posh, "an act of chivalry for the Lady Delacour."

Draco sneered, a devious smirk appearing. "An act of chivalry would be lifting your presence from Miss Delacour's side," the blonde sniped, causing Henry to narrow his eyes at his cousin.

"Well, Miss Delacour does _not_ think so, do you?" The Black heir inquired, eyes fixed upon the elder Delacour beauty.

"I do believe I am feeling quite famished," was the only response he received, much to the amusement of Draco and Gabrielle - and the sputtering indignation of one Henry Black. Giving Blaise a small smile, Fleur offered him a small nod. "I am afraid we must be going now, monsieur Zabini," she smiled cordially. "The supper will be starting soon."

"But of course," Blaise acknowledged, giving a small bow to Fleur and another one to Gabrielle before he glared at the two cousins. "Do try to convince Archie to keep his speech short, hm? I would like to walk in after his twenty minutes of blubbering are finished with."

The blonde Malfoy heir gave a wry smile, "duly noted, Zabini." Turning to Gabrielle, he offered her his arm as the two - one in black, the other in blue chiffon - swept away to the grand saloon. Fleur and Henry left only moments after, leaving Blaise standing alone at the base of the stairs.

That had been over half an hour ago.

_And she still hasn't appeared…_

* * *

By the time Blaise Zabini arrived with one Hermione Granger, he was most certainly not pleased. His eye appeared to have been twitching when he pulled a seat out for a rather handsome Englishwoman dressed in pink, before setting himself down. Henry, who was right on Blaise's left, gave a smirk.

"So, how goes it with the lady, mate?"

"Shut it before I slit your throat, Black," was the only response the violet eyed male received, causing him to burst into a fit of laughter.

Fleur too had looked over and upon seeing the self satisfied smirk upon Hermione's face and the irritated expression wrought upon Blaise's own countenance, had offered up a rueful smile to the Italian. Leaning over to Henry, Fleur gestured towards the couple.

"How long do you think he can resist pulling his hair out?"

Henry grinned, giving a glance over at the two before turning back to the silvery haired blonde. "I'd give it an hour - maybe two - but not much more than that," he retorted. "Blaise has unparalleled patience but I do believe this Miss Granger of yours may be the first one to tarnish that polished reputation."

The blue eyed Frenchwoman smiled. "I am very grateful to him for taking Hermione to supper - she rarely appears at these events, you know."

The Black heir glanced over, eyeing the brunette girl's thick curls and smooth skin before shrugging. "She's not displeasing to the eye," he offered, unaware at how Fleur's own eyes had darkened - just a fraction of a shade - "I suppose she enjoys spending more time with books than people?"

Fleur looked puzzled.

"How did you know?"

Henry smiled, gesturing towards a sandy haired man seated next to Draco. "See him?" He pointed at the same man who had now begun to sip his white wine, "that's Theodore Nott. His father is a railway tycoon of sorts making Theo one of the wealthiest men in Chicago. But despite all that, the man - who I have known for more than nine years, mind - likes reading in his father's library more than he does a good horse racing game!" He finished; his exasperated and confused tone of voice evoked a small smile from the French beauty's face before she cleared her throat.

"Is horse racing all you think about, monsieur Black?"

Henry rolled his eyes, "are we back to that, again? The _monsieur _Black, mademoiselle?"

She smiled. "Well, I hardly expect one dinner to allow us to go by first name basis."

"Yes, but the title's are a bit too formal…"

"It's a way of showing respect, _monsieur_."

The violet eyed male grinned, "and it's also a way of showing stuffiness and prudence, _mademoiselle_."

Fleur raised a brow. "Prudence is not a bad thing, monsieur Black."

"Well, if you _enjoy_ evoking the picture of a fifty something spinster in black robes - "

"I hardly think prudence conjures up _that_ image, monsieur…"

And battle, most enjoyable, had commenced.

* * *

Just a few seats over from the battling couple, Draco Malfoy was watching with amusement as Gabrielle Delacour sipped her white wine with the fairy like daintiness that she transcended whenever an action by her was performed. Grasping the stem of the glass firmly, Gabrielle tipped the clear liquid to her lips, drinking a small, sweet sip before placing the glass down. Feeling a pair of eyes on her, she turned to frown at the gray eyed Malfoy scion.

"Yes, monsieur?"

"Draco," he cut in smoothly, causing her eyes to widen.

"But…you hardly even know me mon…Draco," she amended when she saw the pointed gaze he shot her.

"Then we can't very well get to know each other by using such formalities now, can we?" He inquired, knowing perfectly well that Gabrielle would be at a loss for words.

"Hardly something I expected anyone to say in polite society," she responded back - quick as a whip.

And proving one Draco Malfoy wrong for the first time. This girl was just full of surprises.

Arching an elegant brow, he gestured for her to continue. "Polite society? You seem to have rules you adhere to, Miss Gabrielle."

She gave a lady like snort before smiling. "We all have rules that we follow, monsieur Draco," she sighed. "Even when those rules are constricting and unneeded…very much like these corsets that - oh, _merde_!" Gabrielle's eyes widened in horror at the realization at what she'd just said. Furiously blushing, she quickly tried to amend herself. "I did not mean that - "

"Quite all right, Miss Gabrielle," Draco managed, fighting down the bubble of genuine laughter that had suddenly risen to his throat. "It's refreshing to see a girl speak her mind, even when her words are less than timed for such a formal occasion."

Gabrielle shook her head in shy amusement. "I hardly think my mouth has connected itself to my filter tonight, monsieur," she responded, giving a rueful smile. "Fleur always says to me that I have more cheek than I do filter and more tongue than I do tact. I never knew what she meant by that until this afternoon, I suppose."

He smiled, his long fingers easily reaching for his own wine glass. "I hardly think I would have asked you to supper had you been anything less than you were, Miss Gabrielle…" his voice trailing off as the petite blonde's head snapped up.

A cheeky smile began to work its way upon her cherub like face, allowing the dimple upon her left cheek to show. "I think you would not have asked me at all had I not fallen into you on those stairs, monsieur."

The blonde's lips twitched, "then I shall say your lack of coordination on those stairs will be thank for my inquiry to be your dinner escort."

"Well, I would not place you asking me upon my coordination…"

"Oh, really? Then what would it be, Miss Delacour?"

"Your stepping on the hem of my gown would be a wonderful place to start."

As Draco's eyes widened in surprise, amusement, and horror, Gabrielle merely allowed another cheeky smile to appear before picking up her wine glass again.

_Draco Malfoy _was_ certainly more fun to tease when he blushed_, the younger Delacour decided. _Much more fun indeed_!

* * *

"I hate you Henry Sirius Black. I hate you with every fiber of my being and every ounce of heart I have," Blaise Zabini stated irritably as he sat in a plush, mahogany paneled chair in the men's smoking room. The dinner having adjourned some few minutes ago, with all the women still talking at the table whilst the men returned for a smoke.

Blais and Theo sat opposite of Henry and Draco, with the latter pair openly laughing at Blaise's irritation. "Come now, mate," Henry managed in between fits of laughter, "you can't tell me Miss Granger was _all_ bad," he tried.

The withering glare he received from the Italian told him otherwise.

"She purposefully made me wait at the base of the stairs for her _until the very last possible second_ whereby she then came down and scolded me for not having the gall to knock on her door and escort her out from here!" He cried indigently, "and then, then do you know what she does?" Blaise cried furiously, "she tells me that it would be best if next time I run into her that we exchange no more than pleasantries because though she understands my 'predicament' at not 'being able to find an escort' she would much rather be, and I quote, 'reading my teaching syllabus in my suite, Mr. Zabini,'" Blaise mimicked, pitching his voice higher in mocking. "I tell you Black I won't do it again! I utterly and absolutely refuse to play wingman for you and the Miss Delacour again! Whether it be in this life or the next!"

Draco rolled his eyes, "now you're just being dramatic, Zabini - "

"_I'm_ being dramatic," Blaise hissed, his left eye now twitching. "I had to sit there, perfectly _poised_ while I listened to her ramble about the hundred and sixty seven different ways she would have interpreted Homer's Iliad had he included an extra excerpt! Do you understand what it's like to have a fly buzzing in your ear at a constant rate, Malfoy?" Before Draco could respond, Blaise had already begun talking once more. "It's like a never ending frequency that just continues to ring in your ear until you can't stand it! I tell you, I won't stand it! I - "

"Oh, do calm _down_, Zabini," Theodore Nott finally sighed, eyes peering up from his journal and cigar. "You'll have a stroke if you keep getting so excited over Miss Granger's attention to you."

Blaise's jaw dropped while Henry and Draco tried their best to stifle their laughter once more. Calmly puffing out another cloud of smoke, the sandy haired man turned back to his journal while Blaise slowly turned every shade red, his eyes growing wide.

"_Attention_?! I'd be bloody happy if she never spoke to me again, Nott! I'd be _quite_ satisfied if I - "

"What are you working on now, Theo, old boy?" Draco said, easily stepping in before Blaise's head flew to the hand painted ceiling of the smoking lounge.

Completely ignoring the still fuming Italian, Nott glanced down at his pages. "Just a few notes and outlines for my first novel."

"Is it about the hundred and fifty ways one can give Zabini here a heart attack?" Henry asked smiling, flicking cigar ash into the tray beside him.

Nott snorted, "hardly. It's a bit of a radical piece but I think it has potential with the American market."

"What's it on, then?" The blonde asked, eyeing the scribbled notes.

Theo shrugged. "Just the philosophy of poverty from the eyes of the more adept, such as ourselves and other business and self made men. Wondering why people continually suffer so when there is so very much opportunity in the world."

The gray eyed Slytherin shook his head. "Ah, Nott old man, I doubt you'll find the answer out sooner than any of us will recollect McGonagall's lectures," Draco said as Henry sniggered. "You have to understand that the steerage just are a separate degree than we are."

The darker blonde merely blew another ring of smoke out from his cigar. "I'm not sure…you see I met a few interesting boys today in the third class - "

"You went down steerage?" Henry inquired, appalled. Even Blaise had recovered from his fit of anger and was staring at the Nott heir with surprise.

Said subject of attention shrugged once more. "It's not so terribly bad if you don't think about where you are." He responded, "and these two boys have ambition - they're entrepreneurs of sorts, a Fred and George Weasley - "

"Weasley?" Draco stated, his voice darkening at the mention of the name. "Those common Irish folk with not a penny to their name and more mouths than they can afford?"

"Well….yes."

"And you say they have _ambition_?" The Slytherin asked incredulously, "my dear Theodore Nott, they don't even know the meaning of the word!"

"Ah, but these two boys do," the dark eyed author said with a growing smile, "you see, they plan on opening up a toy shop - a trickster store of sorts. I believe there's profit to be made in the toy crafting and game industry - "

Henry snorted. "Do they have any money to even jump start the company?"

"They plan on working in America for it," Theo responded. "It's quite an interesting plan and I think they'll be featured for a paragraph or two in my novel."

Blaise shook his head in stunned amazement. "Writing a novel on steerage and the third class, Theo? That's…"

"Radical," the soft spoken man retorted, "I understand. But it's quite interesting as well. Miss Luna Lovegood read the first few pages and she offered to promote it for me on her father's paper, The Quibbler."

"Lovegood?" Draco asked dryly, "surely not the eccentric daughter to Xenophilius Lovegood, the newspaper giant?"

Theo nodded. "The very same."

"How odd," the blonde said, leaning back in thought. "Does she still entertain that painfully thick headed girl? The only female Weasley?"

"Ginevra Weasley, and no. I do believe their correspondence has stopped, though for why I'm not sure."

"Enough with all this talk on the rats," Henry injected, stubbing out his cigar as he waved a waiter over. "Who's up for a round of drinks?"

Blaise grinned. "I'll toast to that - after this night, I need it."

* * *

Around the same time that a group of wealthy men were getting themselves tipsy (though not horribly so, mind: they were still gentleman), a red haired girl was creeping along the third class deck in silence. She wore a shabby brown and purple dress and scuffed dark brown leather boots; a thin, pale blue shawl was draped around her shoulders as she made her way to the bow of the ship, hands clasped. Her thick, dark red orange curls were rather pretty in the moonlight and she had a fairly attractive bone structure and clear skin - had she not worn such a calculating sneer upon her face, the girl could be classified as quite lovely.

This was, as one Master Draco Malfoy had callously mentioned, the youngest Weasley girl - Ginevra 'Ginny' Weasley. Though poor and obscure, she had access to some of the best information currently circulating (mainly from her friend Lavender Brown) and had been elated to discover that _the_ Henry Black was aboard the Titanic.

She had the pride to tell any and everyone who would listen that she was closely acquainted with the Black family. She informed them that Sirius Black was a personal friend and benefactor for their family and that she frequently met his son, Henry. It could not be more false.

The actual story was that ten years back, Arthur Weasley had been without a job and had been wandering the streets at night. Sirius Black - who had been drunk - was nearly run over by a Ford when Mr. Weasley pushed him out of the way. Grateful, the wealthy Black head had given the impoverished man a check for one hundred dollars and secured him a job at Parliament.

That was that.

Ginny had only seen Henry Black once when they were children - they had both been in Hyde Park and Henry had run off to the edge of the woods to retrieve a football. Ginny had been picking wildflowers there and had caught a fleeting glimpse of him; he, upon spotting her, had given her a friendly "how d'you do, miss?" before running off to seek out his cousin.

And that was also the moment Ginny Weasley fell in love with one Henry Sirius Black and decided then and there she would marry him. She would be his wife - and she would be in the creme de la creme of society at last.

All she needed was a chance - and a desperate wish to kick that French tramp he'd been touting around away.

* * *

**A/N: And to all those who may condemn me for making Henry and everybody else so callous, let me explain. During the early twentieth century, class standing was a VERY important - if not the most important - thing that you could have. Many people frequently married others not for their money, but for the value of their name and social standing even if that person had less wealth than they did. **

**There was a severe social standing difference between the poor and the wealthy and they all knew it too. Henry, Draco, Blaise and even Theo have been bred - since they were children - this idea that they were superior to the less fortunate and that they had every right to believe so. It was a haughty and prejudiced time and this is actually the way most of the wealthy upper class/aristocracy would act. **

**So no, I'm not making them all OOC jackasses I'm just presenting them in the way the time period calls for them to be presented. **

**Okay, long author's note rant done! :) **

**And for all those who wanted to see more Ginny!BASHING, I promise you will read more in the next few chapters!**

**Review, monsieur's and madams! **


	5. Chapter 4

"Ginevra Weasley! Where on earth have ye been, girl?" Came the booming voice of one Molly Weasley, her ruddy cheeks were grimy from unloading their dusty luggage and her rough Irish hands were peeling. Crossing her arms, the Weasley patriarch turned to glare at her youngest child and only daughter; the glint in the usually warm brown of her orbs were apparent, and the scowl of her lips was frightening.

The daughter - Ginny - however, merely moved towards her bunk with sad, slow steps. The two female Weasley's bunked together with two other women who were apparently still out. The other six Weasley men had somehow wrangled a compartment all to themselves, though there were only four bunks - meaning Ron and Bill were probably sleeping on the ground.

Brushing the thoughts of her brothers from her mind, the red haired beauty collapsed upon her bunk, burying her face in the clean linen sheets.

Mrs. Weasley remained cross.

"What on earth are you whining about now, Ginevra Weasley? All yer life you've put on a sad look whenn'vr something doesn't go yer way. Well, I'll not have it now, I tell yer! I will not!" Mrs. Weasley managed to squeeze herself through the narrow space between the double bunk beds, standing with her abundant bosom now pushing against the metal ladder. "I won't have ye making the rest o' us miserable on this ship, Ginevra! You clean up yer act right now or else - "

"Or else what, Mother?" The red haired beauty finally snapped, rolling onto her back as she glared back at the older Weasley female. "You'll revoke these rags that you've given me? You'll take away my nonexistent allowance? What will you do?" By now, Ginny was heaving and her honey brown eyes were bright with fury. "You don't have any more say over me than does this ship!"

Mrs. Weasley gasped at her daughter's words, "you bite your tongue, Gin - "

"No! I will not bite my tongue or my cheek or any part of my mouth!" Ginny asserted back, chin lifted as she rested upon her forearms. "I won't let you say another word to me tonight!"

"_Ye_ won't? I am yer _mother_ Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley howled back, sweat running down her thick neck and her flushed red cheeks were now turning an unhealthy shade of fuchsia. She narrowed her eyes down at her daughter, the wrinkles around her lips growing more prominent as her scowl deepened at the insolence she was receiving. "Ye'll do anything I tell ye ter do because I'm yer mother! _I'm yer mother_!"

"Yes and what a mother you are!" Ginny spat back, her pretty face twisting into a hideous simper, "you don't have anything to offer me anymore, Mother! Nothing!"

If possible, Mrs. Weasley's cheeks puffed out even more, giving her the appearance of a demonic Old Saint Nick. "I raised ye and gave ye food and shel - "

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," Ginny snapped back, rising from her bed so that she stood face to face with her mother. "You gave me all the pitiful scraps of bread you could spare when you weren't scarfing it down yourself and you swaddled me in the greasy oil rags Father left lying on the floor." The red head's mouth turned, "tell me, Mother, what would you have done if Bill hadn't gotten the job, hm? Would you have cast me out onto the streets?"

"Why, I never! You - "

"Would you, Mother? _Would you_?!" Ginny screeched, her ivory skin now tinged with the furious burns of the sun, her entire countenance shifting to that of an enraged bull. As Ginny leaned down to hiss at her mother, she found Mrs. Weasley's large and calloused hand raised before her eyes. Before the young girl could even blink in surprise, Mrs. Weasley unleashed the full force of a swing upon her daughter's cheek, causing the frail young girl to tumble back onto her bed, her head colliding with the white washed wall.

"I'll tell ye what I would've done, you ungrateful little _skank_!" Mrs. Weasley howled, making her way closer towards her daughter, roughly yanking at Ginny's loose shawl. Pulling her daughter upward, Mrs. Weasley forced Ginny to meet her eyes, roughly handling the young female with all the force one would strangle a lion. "I'll have ye know that I - "

"Why, my _dear_! Did you not hear? Draco Malfoy is planning to propose to that French girl! The blonde - a Miss Delacour!" Came a muffled voice that was quickly becoming more and more clear.

In a slight of hand that was most certainly not supposed to have been embodied by one rotund Mrs. Weasley, the older red head pushed her daughter back onto the bed and managed to haul herself to the cabin's corner by the time the door was opened.

In stepped young Miss Chelsea Fairbanks, a merchant's daughter whose second class ticket to the Mauretania had been switched to a third class ticket for the Titanic, and Miss Briar Stonehill, a pretty governess. Miss Fairbanks closed the door as Miss Stonehill took in the odd sight of a collected Mrs. Weasley, sitting on her trunk with her knitting, while a pale Ginny sat curled up on her lower bunk, knees to her chest.

"Miss Weasley are you quite all right?" Miss Stonehill inquired, taking a step forward. "You seem quite pale…should I call for a doctor?"

"Oh no, Miss Stonehill," Mrs. Weasley suddenly chirped up, her hands still knitting while she raised her head upward. "Ginevra's just feeling a wee bit under the weather - sea sickness and all that, very typical."

Miss Stonehill seemed to accept the explanation and turned to go sit upon her bottom bunk, a mischievous smile upon her face.

"I say Miss Weasley, I do believe my news will have you feeling just a bit better. Do you know what Chelsea and I overheard on the decks tonight?" Miss Stonehill inquired, her green eyes sparkling as she eyed Miss Fairbanks, who was placing her coat in her trunk.

The blonde shook her head in amusement before answering, "somehow Miss Stonehill manages to stick her nose into business that she has no business in overhearing!" Giving a small smile towards Ginny, Miss Fairbanks turned to resume tucking her coat, her voice slightly muffled by her facing the wall. "We'd just been strolling along the decks - "

"When all of a sudden we pass by the first class smoking room!" The brunette injected, her voice filled with gleeful excitement, completely ignoring the dismayed look in the red head's eye and the bitter glare Mrs. Weasley was shooting her daughter. "And do you know who we see in the smoking room, Miss Weasley?" Miss Stonehill asked, her voice in a trembling, hushed whisper as she leaned forward. "We see Mister Theodore Nott, Mister Blaise Zabini, Mister Draco Malfoy, _and_ Mister Henry Black!" Ginny's eyes immediately snapped upward at the mention of the Black heir's name, her hands uncurling away her knees as she sat upward.

"You…you saw He - er, Mister Black?"

"Why of course we did!" Miss Stonehill affirmed airily, prideful like a peacock showing off her feathers. "Chelsea and I stayed back and we heard every word of what they said!"

"Well, what did they say?" Ginny snapped, her patience coming to an end.

The brunette gave a smirk of confidence before leaning forward even more, her dress now brushing at the dirty floor. "I heard - and this is _absolutely _true - that Mister Malfoy is planning on proposing to Miss Delacour before the end of the voyage!" Miss Stonehill squealed out, clasping her hands in excitement as she jumped back into a proper sitting position, eyes gleaming with interest. "It was all so late and everybody was clear of the lounge so he thought it safe to announce, ha! Little did he know that _we_," Miss Stonehill gestured towards herself and an exasperated Miss Fairbanks, "were standing right by, overhearing every word they said!"

"Mister…Mister _Malfoy _is marrying Miss Delacour?" Ginny breathed out, her eyes widening as she struggled to comprehend the news.

Miss Stonehill seemed not to notice for she nodded her head sadly, "woe is the fact, but truth it is…the most handsome man on the planet…getting married to a French _whore_." Her blonde companion swatted her shoulder before the brunette scowled, biting her lip. "I mean, French…_consort_."

Miss Fairbanks rolled her eyes at her friend's bitterness but turned to face an equally white Ginny. "Don't worry Miss Weasley, I've heard Mister Malfoy can be a downright cruel man who is cold and unfeeling…I'm thankful that no one I know will be marrying him for he'll surely make everyone's lives miserable."

The youngest Weasley, however, barely even registered Miss Fairbanks words of comfort. All that was rolling through her mind was the fact that Henry Sirius Black was _NOT_ marrying Fleur Delacour…oh thank all the gods…

"He's…he's marrying the Delacour girl…_not_ Henry," Ginny whispered to herself, making sure the news sunk into every molecule of her body before the words glued themselves to the very front of her brain. "He's _not_ marrying her!" Ginny cried out now, jumping off the bunk with a gleeful smile. "He's not marrying her! He's not - " pivoting to shout the news again, Ginny stopped mid sentence when saw the very disturbed expression of one Miss Chelsea Fairbanks, whose jaw was slightly agape. "I mean, er…oh, drat! That Mister Malfoy being snatched up!" Ginny managed to stumble out rather unconvincingly as she snapped her fingers in mock distress.

The blonde Miss Fairbanks continued to look at the red head with suspicion but Ginny's poorly played angst had registered with Miss Stonehill, for she nodded in sad agreement. "Such a pity, isn't it? He's so blonde and handsome and she's just a cheap little tart that anyone with enough money can buy!"

Ginny readily nodded her head in agreement, "indeed! With the way she dresses…it's as if she's getting ready for some eternal spring garden party that will never happen!"

"Oh, _quite_ true!" The brunette said in a dramatic sighing gesture, "_what_ a waste…after all, the little French girl's English is so very atrocious…I wonder how anyone can even comprehend what she's saying!"

The young Weasley girl now situated herself right next to the brunette, crossing her legs as she too listed the many faults of Miss Delacour, her words edged with an icy undertone that was not missed by Miss Fairbanks. The blonde sighed as her two roommates shouted off a laundry list of defects before turning towards Ginny's abandoned bunk and sitting down. Had Miss Fairbanks looked up to see old Mrs. Weasley, she would have noticed an odd expression gleaming in her eye…a expression very akin to greed.

* * *

On April 11th, 1912 the oceanic sun shown brightly in an azure blue sky, the cloudless new day filled with promise and the saltiness of the sea's breeze. The outdoor first class deck had been furiously polished the night before by crew and the light honey oak floors now gleamed underneath the yellow rays.

Inside, the cherry paneled wooden floors were carpeted with newly beaten Persian carpets that one Miss Gabrielle Delacour took to beating as well, only this time, with the staccato beat of her steps. A dreamy smile was upon her face as she waltzed down to the breakfast cafe, knowing that Fleur and Hermione were probably already down there, drinking tea with some other ladies of importance. But quite frankly, Gabrielle giggled inwardly, she couldn't give a damn about who Fleur and Hermione were dining with…she didn't even mind the scolding she would get from Fleur once she showed up twenty minutes late. No. All she could think and focus on was one Draco Malfoy and his alluring gray eyes, flecked with gold…his charming smiles and debonair gestures…his witty words and embarrassed blush…

"Oh _merde_, am I in love…" Gabrielle sighed aloud, feeling as if she truly was aboard a ship of dreams. She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips and the little twirl that she did with her feet as she continued to walk down the hallway, the heart that she always wore on her sleeve never as prominent as it was at that moment.

Suddenly, she frowned.

_Draco must be so very busy with all the paperwork he has to do for the company…perhaps…perhaps I should bring him over some breakfast? _

Gabrielle bit her lip as she juggled that thought in her mind. She didn't want to appear as if she was some desperate little girl looking for affection and love. And from what she could tell, Draco was actually attracted to the fact that she had a brain and a heavy dose of wit tucked away, rather than just being a pretty - but empty headed - little bobble.

_But I do not want him to think that I only put on such a facade in public…I _truly_ do like him. I…I don't want him to even _think_ that I was after him for his money…_

Gabrielle bit her lip even harder as the second thought made its way to the forefront of her mind. "If Draco knows about my family finances, I doubt he would even spare me another look…" she murmured to herself, a sadness overtaking her as she she slowed her pace, the eagerness she had previously had vanishing. _Am I being dishonest if I keep my situation under wraps from Draco? _Gabrielle pondered, _I am not saying anything that is untrue…in fact, I am not saying anything at all! _

_He's unaware of just how false your first class ticket is_, the conscious part of her brain hissed back at her and Gabrielle felt a flood of shame well up in her. The French Ministry paid for practically everything the Delacour family had and Gabrielle knew that the tickets weren't purchased with their own money, but the _government's_ money. If her Papa were to lose the election come next year…the young Delacour quickly shook those thoughts from her head, quickening her pace when she saw the grand staircase. The same staircase that she had met Draco on…

_Would he care about fortune as much as the public makes it seem? Would he mind…mind marrying a…a… _

"Gabrielle Delacour!" Came a haughty - but concerned - voice that the petite blonde could only identify as one Hermione Granger's. Snapping up her neck, Gabrielle saw a determined Hermione marching up towards her, a glint of vengeance in her brown eyes.

Immediately Gabrielle quickened her pace, practically flying down the stairs and towards Hermione, giving her friend a warm smile. "Why, _bonjour_, Hermione! You look very pretty today!" Indeed, Gabrielle mused, Hermione was wearing one of her more flattering dresses - a beautiful periwinkle blue color and the material was, for once, not gingham or cotton but…silk. Gabrielle frowned, "tell me now Hermione Granger why you're wearing silk when it's not even seven o'clock at night yet!" The blue eyed vixen demanded before realization slowly dawned on her, the confused expression melting way into a playful, knowing glance. "Hermione…" Gabrielle began, her voice sing-song like as she looped her arm around the brunette's.

"Oh, let go of me, Gabrielle!" Hermione hissed, "I am making my way up to my bedroom again to change!"

"Change? Why on earth for?" The young Delacour demanded, latching on even harder to Hermione's arm and dragging her towards the left banister of the staircase. "You look _lovely_, Hermione, really!"

The brunette rolled her eyes as her cheeks began to flush a rosy red hue. Tugging down at the rich material of her gown, Hermione's voice was distressed. "I - I woke up this morning and after washing my face and doing my hair, I go to my closet to put on my dark blue gingham. Well, do you know what I found, Gabby? Do you?"

"A beautiful periwinkle silk dress that you should've worn before moths did?" Gabrielle bit out, eyeing the French trim with a satisfied smile.

Hermione shook her head vigorously at Gabrielle's comment, throwing her hands up in the air. "No! I find all my dresses _gone_ and replaced with these," Hermione gestured to herself, "ones! I only know of _one_ person who would do this and it is your sister, Fleur Delacour! I come down here to give her a piece of my mind and demand that she give me back my old dresses but do you know what she tells me?" The governess cried, completely ignoring Gabrielle's attempts to hold back laughter, "she tells me that she had the maids _put them in storage_! Yes, storage! As in, _deeeeep_ down in the ship! Practically in the boilers! And then, then do you know what she has the audacity to add, Gabby? Hmm? Well, well - she says that she would've had them _burned_ but didn't want to 'bother the men below'," Hermione spat out, irritated. "Ha! As if I believe that…I'll tell you what she was doing last night, Gabby! She and Henry Black were strolling the promenade decks…I know because I saw them after Mister Zabini bid me good night and - "

"Oh! How was your date with Blaise, 'Mione?" Gabrielle cut in easily, smoothing the wrinkles on Hermione's dress that she'd made while fussing.

At those words, the brunette stomped her foot with irritation. "I do _not_ approve of you, Mister Black, Mister Malfoy, and Fleur ganging up on me like that and forcing me to accompany Mister Zabini! That was a very underhanded thing for you to do, Gabby, and I'll have - "

"Do you not think him handsome?" The blue eyed Delacour asked innocently but with a devious smirk upon her face that was impossible to miss.

Her friend, in turn, sputtered with indignation. "Why…why…we should turn this conversation back on course! As I was saying - "

"Because if you don't find him handsome, that's quite all right. I hear there are a _number_ of women aboard this ship who are just _dying_ to have someone as…Italian as Mister Zabini to woo them…"

"Oh, please!" Hermione snorted, "as if they would get his attention! Mister Zabini is a man of class and refinement and he understood every word that I said to him last night on the differing philosophies of Aristotle and Plato. For someone like him, Mister Zabini is as graceful and intelligent as a girl could hope and - "

"Ah ha!" Gabrielle suddenly cried, leaning back with a wide grin upon her face. "You _do_ like him, 'Mione! After all the moaning you did during supper, Fleur and I really thought that we'd made a mistake - "

The Englishwoman's face turned a deep shade of red before she crossed her arms. "We were having an engaging conversation and while he may have been a _little_ tense, his presence was more than enjoyable. In fact I…I quite think I…"

"Yes?" Gabrielle urged, "you quite think you…?"

Immediately Hermione's eyes snapped back onto the younger Delacour before easily linking arms with Gabrielle again. "You are a _dreadful_ little snake, Gabrielle Alexandrie Delacour," Hermione sighed with amusement.

The blonde beamed back, "getting you to admit something is a feat that has caused my hunger to escalate to absolutely _famished_."

Suddenly Hermione smirked, "famished, are you?" The brunette inquired, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Gabrielle frowned. "What's gotten you all smiley, 'Mione? Have you - oh!" The blonde's words fell off her lips as she suddenly saw a group of men stand up from a table just a few feet in front of them, two brunettes and one ash blonde that Gabrielle would have been blind to miss. "Oh, _merde_…"

Hermione snickered. "Hopefully your eating like a wolf doesn't terrify the poor Malfoy boy back home…he's _never_ seen you when you're hungry, has he?"

Gabrielle gulped. "I had hoped he never would, 'Mione." Turning towards her companion, Gabrielle glared. "You _are_ one snake yourself," she muttered back.

"You're an intellect, self supporting woman, and now a fan of my house's mascot?" Inquired the smooth voice of Blaise Zabini as Hermione and Gabrielle approached the table, "do tell, Miss Granger." He added, a smirk upon his face, "only this time, be so kind as to keep your sentences to a few words at maximum."

The brown eyed scholar merely raised a brow, a cool confidence surrounding her. "Oh, I will Mister Zabini - but not because you asked of me."

The Italian heir gave an amused half grin as Draco helped Gabrielle into her seat, the blonde heir having placed a gentle kiss to Gabrielle's palm beforehand. Pulling out Hermione's own chair, Blaise sat opposite of her and gestured towards the brunette. "Pray tell why you will acquiesce to my request then, Miss Granger."

Hermione smirked. "Why, Mister Zabini, I fear any talk above primitive 'yes' and 'no's' will leave you throughly confused and with an dreadful headache."

At those words Henry Black barely controlled the burst of laughter that left his lips while Fleur chose that exact moment to take a sip of hot chocolate. Blaise's eyes widened at Hermione's audacity while the governess merely began to butter a piece of toast of herself. She gave him a quick glance before a devious smile snuck its way towards her lips.

"Do eat will you, Mister Zabini? No matter how small the human anatomy may be, nourishment is still key."

Now Henry laughed outright at Zabini's dumbstruck face and even Draco and Gabrielle had looked up from their conversation. A triumphant Hermione grinned at the Italian before turning back to face her toast, spreading more of the butter upon it.

"Why, listen here, Miss Granger! I have no intention of being insulted today - last night was _quite_ enough! I - "

"Oh, do calm yourself, Mister Zabini! I have no idea what thoughts were running through _your_ head at my comment but I was merely referring to one's _mind_. A healthy mind needs food to function."

Blaise's arrogant expression quickly fell to embarrassment as he cleared his throat. "Oh…yes, quite…the mind. The mi - excuse me, Miss Granger! Do you mean to say that my mind is of some particular smallness?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "oh, Mister Zabini, I could sit here and list the hundred and twenty different ways your mind and mine differ but I fear that would be a rather terrible way to start the day."

"I will have you know Miss Granger that at my alma mater of Hogwarts I was a _prodigy_ - "

"Let us think of the definition of prodigy before we use it freely in a sentence, Mister Zabini - "

"Yes, yes, you may wish to look up the word in a dictionary considering you have never had to addressed to you - "

Hermione's cheeks turned an odd shade of purple before she slapped her buttering knife down and spun around to face the smug Italian fully, her words sharpened and ready to fire.

And that, oddly enough, was the way April 11th, 1912 had begun for Mister Blaise Zabini and Miss Hermione Granger.

* * *

"I think Blaise Zabini has finally met his match," Henry Black stated proudly as he and Fleur stood up from the breakfast table. Draco and Gabrielle had long since left, gone off to stroll the promenade decks while an exasperated Zabini had yanked Hermione down to the boiler room, to prove to her that the Titanic boilers had employed the use of _Italian_ metal.

Fleur stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs from her pale, sky blue dress; she turned to face a still chuckling Henry. "Well now, Mister Black," Fleur said, enunciating the 'mister' just to see the adora - no! Childish, pout appear upon the Black heir's face. "I do believe this is where we take our leave," she gave him a small nod before turning to walk out of the saloon.

"Now wait one moment there, Miss Delacour," Henry countered, rushing across to block her exit way. "I do believe that if I am to earn the honor of calling you by your first name, then I shall have to prove myself."

"Yes…?"

"Well," Henry said, rolling his eyes with a kind of endearing grin that caused Fleur to fight back another smile, "I can't very well prove myself to you if, well, I'm not _around_ you."

Fleur blinked at his response for a moment before crossing her arms in a very un-ladylike fashion. "You must think of a way, Mister Black," Fleur said airily. "Once you've conjured up a plan that involves you proving yourself to me _without_ being near me, then perhaps I will _willingly_ go to the next supper with you."

"Willingly…you went willingly with me at the _last_ supper!" Henry countered, raising a brow at her now.

The blonde smirked. "I did a _favor_ for you, monsieur. For helping find an escort for Miss Granger…" Fleur trailed off, easily edging past a slightly stunned Henry and began her walk away.

The Black heir could only stare at the elegant form of Miss Delacour, his violet eyes widening before a low whistle left his lips.

"That," he muttered to himself, "is one hell of a dame."

* * *

"Tell me, Miss Delacour, whatever shall we talk about now that our plot is complete and idiots are no longer on the table for discussion?" Draco Malfoy inquired playfully as he strolled along the deck with a smiling Gabrielle Delacour.

His blonde companion gave a simple shrug, "oh, I don't know…perhaps we should bid each other good morning and run into each other again when we having something to talk about?"

Draco nodded at her suggestion with mock seriousness, "yes…but, what should happen, Miss Delacour, if say, neither of us can come up with a good topic of conversation?"

"Why, then I suggest, monsieur Malfoy, that we both read some very good books."

"And what might your idea be of a 'very good book'?"

Gabrielle cocked her head up thoughtfully before turning to face an amused Draco. "Hm, ones about…oh! Ones that are about grand adventures…like the Mark Twain novels!"

"Twain?" Draco inquired distastefully, "what on earth do you see in _those_ novels, Gabrielle? The man's obsession with the common folk is almost bordering upon…upon _actual_ fascination!"

The blonde laughed at his stunned comment, "why, monsieur Malfoy! Do not tell me that you actually," Gabrielle let out a mock gasp of horror, "_enjoy_ those dull, boring, horrendous books on…_society_! So proper and stiff and boring…" the blonde shook her head, "you need adventure, monsieur Malfoy! And Twain is the man to get them from!"

A small grin made its way upon the Malfoy heir's face but he fought it down, "well, you see, I garner the most fascination from novels containing young women who speak at untimely moments, are too bold for woman's circles, and can't seem to hold her tongue no matter how desperate the situation may seem."

At those words Gabrielle frowned. "I…I can hold my tongue!" She managed to argue back, but her voice showed no conviction. "Sometimes…"

Draco laughed an elegant chuckle, easily looping his arm about Gabrielle's waist. "My dear if there is anything I find more endearing than the pout upon your face, it's the blatant inability for you to realize you _cannot_ tell a lie to a hippopotamus without faltering."

"Monsieur Malfoy?"

"Hm?"

"You are most certainly _not_ a gentleman right now," Gabrielle said in a dignified voice, though the amused exasperation behind her tone was quite evident.

The gray eyed male chuckled. "Then it is a very good thing that you are hardly a lady then, isn't it?"

At those words - combined with Draco's adoring look - Gabrielle felt herself laughing at the ludicricy of the odd courtship she was in and shook her head. No wonder so many people painted Draco Malfoy as cruel - he saw things and the world for what it was, and stated them conversation. To her, he did so playfully but Gabrielle had no doubt he could be quite serious when needed; at that thought, she turned to face him.

"Draco?" She asked, her voice suddenly very small.

The tall blonde stopped mid-step, looking down to face his own blonde princess. "Yes, lo - Gabrielle?"

"Would you…would you ever consider poor people as…bad people? People you wouldn't want around you?"

The blonde frowned at her words as he weighed them in his mind. _Since when did Gabrielle become considered with the level of charity I practice? _But when he saw the actual curiosity in her blue depths, combined with her somewhat introverted stance, the blonde pulled her in closer, his lips just barely brushing the top of her head.

"Darling, I will host a sea of fools underneath my roof if it means that you will be happy," he said, his words ringing of truth. Looking down, he saw Gabrielle beam at him before she leaned in closer, the two continuing their stroll down the promenade in a blissful silence.

* * *

Sirius Black had a pounding headache, stinging cheek, and a year's supply of liquor with him in his private quarters, ready to jump out a window and into a tree. He had just met with his latest consort of sorts, a Miss…Miss, well a Miss something, and she had - quite literally - jumped into his arms when he arrived at her home to pick her up for lunch. The heavy golden bracelet that she wore and somehow done a one eighty in the air and wound up smacking Sirius smack dab on her cheek, leaving an embarrassingly red mark for all to see. A few women even patted his shoulder in pity when he had arrived in the restaurant with Miss something-or-other!

Groaning, the eternal bachelor leaned back in his recliner as she downed another glass of scotch. It was during these frustrating times of womanizing that Sirius Black needed his protege - and son - back.

"That Titanic ship of Bruce's better speed its huge ass to New York on time or so help me I will - "

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"Mister Black? Oh, Mister Black?" Came Sirius's maid, Mitzi's, voice.

"Yes, Mitzi?" Sirius shouted back through the door, pouring himself another drink.

"A Miss Cladswell wishes to see you downstairs! She wishes to apologizing for something and is wondering if you would still be her escort for the charity function this evening!"

Miss Cladswell! Sirius remembered, his eyes lightening up with remembrance. That was smack-it girl's name! The gray eyed Head of Black pondered the question for a few moments before downing another scotch.

"Eh, just tell Miss Cladswell that I've come down with an awful cold and that, ah…oh! I am planning my son's wedding!"

"Your…your…Master Henry is getting married?" Mitzi practically screamed from the other side.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Mitzi! How do you think I've raised my son? To be a proper gentleman? By gods, no! Of course he's not getting married!" _I just need you to tell Miss Cladswell that I'm doing something she absolutely _cannot_ bother me during! The girl is more persistent than - _

"Oh…oh, right, sir!" Mitzi said, finally catching on before scurrying off, leaving Sirius be.

The dark haired playful shook his head in amusement as he looked into his glass. His son - _his_ son, Henry Sirius Black - getting married…ha! What an event _that_ would be if that actually happened…Henry Black getting married…preposterous!

* * *

**Yes, I'm back from the dead! And here's a SUPER long chapter to compensate for my absence, hehe :) **

**I've given you some Ginny, some Henry-Fleur, a tablespoon or so of Draco-Gabrielle, a large helping of Blaise-Hermione, and a sprinkling of Sirius! Enjoy the next couple of building romance chapters because come chapter 6 (or possibly 7), you're going to see The Iceberg. **

**Up next: Remus, Teddy, and Tonks; Titanic ship navigation; and Henry Black's hair brained scheme to prove himself to Miss Fleur Delacour without being around her...even _I _don't want to see what he has planned for that haha**

**Review, please! **


	6. Chapter 5

**Another update! To all who've favored this story, please review! I need more than one review per chapter, everyone! And I don't know why I'm updating so quickly but you can also expect chapter 6 up soon (I hope). We're getting closer and closer to the iceberg scene...dun, dun, dun! **

**And just to clarify: Ginny thinks it's Draco that's marrying Fleur, unaware that he's courting Gabrielle - who, by the way, has quite a big secret that she's been keeping from Draco. You can probably piece it together after you read this chapter. **

**Review if you want to see Neville and Luna! **

* * *

Dearest Grandmother -

_No, far too cliche… _

My darling, dear Grandmother -

_Oh, goodness, am I writing a soap opera? _

Hello, Grandmother -

_…she may just throw this out after reading 'hello'…_

Crumpling up that sheet of paper into a ball as well, Tonks threw the letter into an overflowing wastebasket by her side and leaned back into the chair, blowing a few tendrils of hair from her eyes. Writing to Grandmother Druella was even harder than Tonks had ever imagined…silently, she cursed herself for never having paid attention during those letter writing sessions her mother had insisted she attend.

_What am I going to do now?_ Tonks mentally sighed, crossing her arms. The options that she had were closing in on her, faster than she would have liked. She knew from the moment that she agreed to marry Remus, money would always be an issue. It wasn't as if she had loads of it stored away either - sure, her _extended_ family, might not she herself. After Andromeda Black, an heiress of the Black family, slunk away to marry common shoe maker Ted Tonks? There was no way in hell she would be receiving even one sixteenth of the grandiose fortune she was _supposed to _inherit.

Of course, that never bothered Tonks. She and Remus were in love and happy, just like her parents were. They didn't forty different mansions around the globe, piles of money in the bank, and more clothes than they could ever wear in five lifetimes tucked away - they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Until Teddy came along.

At that, Tonks turned around, placing both hands atop the back of her chair before turning her cheek and lying her head down atop her hands. She watched in silent admiration as her baby boy stirred in his sleep, rolling to the left to face the wall as he continued on in his dreamland. Tonks knew that this was probably the warmest she had ever kept the baby and all this warmth and comfort was going to be snatched away the minute they set foot in New York.

Remus's job as a tutor hadn't panned out well after creditors read his file. Yes, Remus was a brilliant man with a heart of gold, but he was also the bastard son to Kayman Lupin, a family known for mental disorders and violence. Kayman himself had gambled away the large Lupin fortune, leaving his wife and son with nothing before passing away.

Tonks herself had never given too much thought to Remus's employment because they had always managed to scour food and shelter somewhere. Tonks could perform on the streets, doing her singing and acrobatic tricks while Remus would serve at a household for a day or two - not as a tutor, oh no - but as a gardener or odd handy man. They always had enough to get by.

But then, oh, then there was Teddy.

That changed everything.

Every penny of what Remus and Tonks could shave away from themselves was given to Teddy; having a baby was hard, but raising a baby was even harder. Tonks had no idea the high expenses of food, clothing, warmth, and time that a baby needed. She could barely sing for a minute on the streets before Teddy began to cry.

Tonks had once sworn to herself that she would never, ever ask a Black family member for help. And now here she was, ready to write a letter to her Grandmother Druella, _begging_ her to spare some pity and give her and Remus a temporary allowance and home in New York. Of course, Tonks knew that she _should_ be writing to the current Head of Black - her Uncle Sirius - but that idea would have been even more foolish than writing to Grandmother Druella!

Tonks knew very well the arrogance and Black instilled values Sirius had; the man was a spoiled, reckless playboy who was only named Head of Black because he knew how to make money. And his son, Tonks snorted, wasn't much better. From what Tonks had heard of Henry Black, she had gauged the boy to be a replica of his father - a talented businessman with a black heart. Oh, Tonks knew very well Henry Black was aboard the Titanic - how could she not? The newsmen had practically jumped aboard the ship to get one single shot of Henry Black…of Mister Henry Black. Tonks sighed.

Money wasn't everything, that she knew, but it made life just a bit more bearable when one had it.

* * *

Henry Black could barely sit through the meeting for Titanic's navigation for more than thirty minutes before he'd excused himself, saying he was frightfully ill, and rushed out of the doors. He'd seen Mr. Andrews smirk down at him and knew that everyone there was aware of his courtship with Miss Delacour, but in all honesty, Henry just couldn't give a damn. He needed to hunt down Theo before another word was spoken because if there was anyone who Henry knew was better than conjuring up schemes than Draco, it was definitely one Theodore Francis Nott.

"Don't let me down, Theo," Henry muttered to himself as he rushed into Theo's suite, not even bothering to greet the two maids that were standing there, completely bewildered. Rushing from the parlor into Theo's bedroom, Henry saw that it was empty and frowned.

Walking out, the violet eyed heir gestured towards the empty master suite bedroom. "Do either of you ladies know where a Mister Theodore Nott is?" He threw in an extra charming smile because he was running on Fleur's hours here, and he only knew it was a matter of minutes before the eldest Delacour sister went gallivanting off to a different part of the ship. And Henry would be forced to hunt her down. All over again.

Shuddering at that thought, Henry added in a small bow at the shell shocked woman. The gesture seemed to unfreeze them and a plump, dark haired maid holding a pile of bedsheets spoke up.

"M-Mister Nott just stepped out not five minutes ago, sir. He said he needed to find some more inspiration for his book."

At those words Henry sighed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again to two gawking maids. "He's gone to steerage again," Henry muttered flatly with an irritated expression. "Hey, wait!" He suddenly cried, quickly glancing down at his pocket watch, "it's not even noon and Draco still hasn't kept up his half of the bargain! That little son of a - "

"Sir!" The plump maid cried out incredulously as Henry stopped mid-sentence.

"Terribly sorry, miss," Henry called out as he began rushing out towards the door. "Thanks for all your help!"

Before the two maids could even react, Henry was out the door and dashing down the corridor, eyes searching for ash blonde hair and gray eyes. There was no way Henry Black was going to allow his cousin to weasel his way out of _this_ bet, oh no! Draco Malfoy was going to spend his fifteen minutes in steerage and hunt down one sandy haired author, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

"Good day, monsieur Malfoy," Gabrielle Delacour said, her voice formal and cold as she glared at him - no kind smile upon her pink lips...not a hint of warmth.

The gray eyed blonde before her, however, seemed none too amiable either for he gave a short nod, his expression blank, and his lip pressed tightly together as he raised a brow. "And to you as well, Miss Delacour," he replied. Without so much as another word, the blue eyed French woman opened her suite door and stepped in, closing the heavy oak entrance barrier behind her quite forcefully.

Turning now, the stony faced Malfoy head could only stare down his son with a look that demanded explanation. "Draco," Lucius Malfoy said, his voice silky, smooth, and controlled - but there was an undercurrent of dread snaking its way through. He picked up his silver molded cane and tapped it against Gabrielle's door, "just what are you doing prancing about this ship - in the most indecent manner - with a Delacour girl, of all things?"

The younger Malfoy, however, was not shaken - not in the least. His own gray eyes were as stormy as his father's and his sense of pride seemed to be edging the elder Malfoy's right out of the elaborately done hallway. Placing his hands into his pockets, Draco seemed to contemplate his father's expression for a few moments before he finally pulled out a cigarette. "I do not know what you mean, Father. Miss Delacour and I are, in a way, friends but before this journey is over, I do intend on making her my wife."

"Yes…your wife," Lucius murmured as he gave another quick glance back at Gabrielle's stately suite doors, "you see, my son, in order for you to have a wife, she must be approved of my myself and your mother. Surely you remember that, child?"

Draco barely even flinched at his father's sinister tone as he lit up the cigarette, placing the gold lighter back into his pockets as he took a puff of his cigarette. "Of course I do, Father. However I think this conversation is one that is both pointless and unneeded - Miss Delacour is more than suitable for my pursuit."

"And if I say she is not?"

"Then I would ask why you would believe so." Was Draco's only retort, his voice level and his countenance - a perfect politician's mask.

Lucius, however, seemed to have picked up on the question he had received on Draco's end with a rather victorious smirk. He knew that Draco would always honor family first; quite honestly, Lucius had no intentions of seeing his son married off to a French monkey's daughter with barely a million to her name. How could his own son not see his reasoning? By gods…

"Draco, surely you must understand you marry for reasons other than love in this world that we live in." Lucius began, the father and son still eyeing each other down - neither refusing to submit. "We marry for connections, catalysts to increase our wealth…we marry for business orientated needs as much as we do for love and all those other notions," the elder blonde said, waving a hand dismissively. "Your mother and I are a fortunate pair - we have married for both those reasons."

"As I intend to do as well, Father," Draco said, his voice ringing with honesty which only caused a somewhat irritated Lucius Malfoy to glare with reproach.

"Well, then, if you are to do so, then kindly tell me why you are courting Miss Delacour."

At those words the former Slytherin looked puzzled, "why am I…well, Father, can you not tell? She's the daughter to not only the French President but her political connections are quite outstanding. Frankly, I do not understand your incessant need to hear me explain these things…I rather expected something different."

Lucius fought the urge to roll his eyes. "And what did you expect, my son?"

"…encouragement."

"Oh, by god," Lucius muttered under his breath, his face finally revealing the exasperation and aggravation he had expertly hidden behind a mask of cold indifference. Taking a step towards his only son, Lucius realized that the only reason his usually straight minded son couldn't see logic was because…because he actually, honest to goodness didn't know. _That little French tramp…_Lucius mused as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder, forcing their stormy gray eyes to meet. "Draco, I must tell you that your idea of who Miss Delacour is has been frightfully crafted. You see, my son, she is _not_ who she presents herself as - though, you can hardly blame her. With the failure of a father she has and her mother's rather dreadful situation…but the idea that - "

"Draco! Oy, Draco! Hey! Malfoy!" Henry Black's voice suddenly pitched from behind Lucius. Draco's gray eyes lit up at seeing his cousin and he had never been more thankful for Henry's untimely interruption.

"He - "

"Mister Black," Lucius spat, turning to face his nephew with equal parts annoyance and barely restrained hostility, though, surely enough, a tiny shred of amusement was there as well. Henry grinned as he walked towards his uncle and cousin.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't a reunion at Miss Delacour's door! Say, you're not going to allow Miss Delacour to meet the family already, are you Draco?" Henry inquired, "because that really is a poor choice of, well, you know…integration, but I suppose if you really are - "

"Mister Black," the elder blonde cut in elegantly, turning around fully now so that his gray eyes met violet ones. "Draco and I in a bit of a discussion - "

The Black heir, however, only scoffed at Lucius's explanation. "I'll bet you were," he snorted, "but that ploy won't work here, Draco!"

Lucius looked flabbergasted at Henry's tone. "I beg your pardon, Mister Black?"

"Hm? Oh, well this has nothing to do with you, Uncle," Henry explained, "this is more or less my attempt at having Draco upkeep his word!"

"His…word?" Lucius asked, brow still furrowed as Draco's face was now taking on the look of horror.

Henry smirked. "Indeed so! He would be breaking his word of honor if he didn't accompany me on a chase for Miss Fleur Delacour!"

"Miss _Fleur_ Delacour?"

Henry nodded once again, "quite. You see, the pursuit of Miss Fleur Delacour is an exhausting one but one that Draco is an expert at. We need - "

But by then Lucius had all but forgotten Henry was standing there. _Of course! _The Head of Malfoy thought triumphantly, _this is why Draco was so confused! My son was chasing after _Fleur_ Delacour this entire_ time! He reasoned, completely forgetting the fact that Draco had just declared his wish to wed Gabrielle barely four minutes ago -_ Not her sister…not_ _her... but Miss Fleur stands to inherit quite a substantial amount from her mother and I suspect a few pennies from that politician that is her father….yes, Miss Fleur Delacour. Quite a match…_without so much as glancing at Henry, Lucius turned to give Draco a clap on the back.

Draco merely blinked with confusion at his father's change of mood.

"Ah, Draco, I think we can have this conversation another day, my son."

"Indeed?" The younger Malfoy inquired slowly, somewhat hesitant at his father's unusual bipolar switch.

The older blonde nodded, "oh yes. Indeed." Turning back to Henry, he gave a short bow and a small smile. "I bid you good day, Mister Black. Draco." And just as quickly as Lucius had appeared, he began to walk down towards the end of the hallway, his silver and emerald cane glinting as he entered the sunlight of the deck.

Henry moved towards Draco's side, a look of bewilderment on his roguish face. "Did Uncle Lucius get himself involved in the narcotics business and somehow end up using all the supplies?"

Draco could only shake his head in puzzlement. "I…don't know…Father has never been so…_understanding _before."

The violet eyed heir turned to look at his cousin for a few moments before clapping the blonde's back. "Well, now, onward to more important matters…such as you up keeping your end of the bargain on the bet as well as helping me hunt down good ol' Theo."

The blonde blanched. "Now, Henry, surely you might - "

"No."

"…damn you to hell," the blonde muttered before he began stalking off towards the exit, hands balled into fists as a gleeful Henry Black chuckled behind him.

* * *

"So what idiotic scheme do you have in mind, Henry?" Draco inquired as the two strolled down to Third Class; their steps perfectly measured with Draco smoking an French cigarette while Henry had both his hands in his pockets. The bright sunshine and warm air presented a perfectly bucolic atmosphere, and sounds of children laughing, men chatting, women tittering all swirled into a symphony of background music.

As the cousins walked on, they seemed to be oblivious to the looks they were receiving as they marched out of First Class and began to walk across to Second. Henry was still humming a mildly pleasant tune and Draco was eying the coastline with an intrigued expression.

"Draco, do you ever think of Cousin Nymphadora?" Henry asked suddenly as they walked. The question seemed to have startled Draco momentarily for he took the cigarette out of his lips, placing one hand in his pocket as he gave a sideways glance at his cousin.

"Not particularly," the blonde admitted, as he blew another puff of smoke into the air. "Mother refuses to even speak her name in the house and well, Grandmother Walburga already had them cut off the family tapestry. You should know this," Draco retorted, "you live at Black Manor!"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Well, of course I know _that _but what I want to know if…I don't know, if maybe we were a little…quick to act."

The blonde raised a brow as two men quickly parted ways for Draco and Henry to pass, "quick to act? Of course not! Aunt Andromeda shamed the entire Black family name when she threw away her fortune and pride to marry that…that shoe making freeloader!"

"I suppose," Henry agreed hesitantly but his tone of voice held little of the proud conviction it usually did. "I'm just thinking, Draco, you see Dad wrote to me a few days ago about how Cousin Nymphadora had a baby - "

"A baby?" Draco asked incredulous, "with whom? I wasn't even aware she was married! Mother never spoke a word about it when reading the society pages and - "

"Well she couldn't have very well known!" Henry injected, running a hand through his hair. "Cousin Nymphadora didn't exactly marry any better than Aunt Andromeda."

The Malfoy heir frowned, "tailor?"

"No."

"Chauffeur?"

"Not…exactly."

"Ah, I see," Draco nodded, "a waiter."

"Er…no."

The blonde frowned, "don't tell me you're going to keep playing 'guess the profession' with me for the rest of the day, Black!" Henry winced as he managed to grind out the words, admitting the truth. The odd profession of Remus Lupin, however, seemed to have struck a chord with Draco, for the blonde's brows easily knit together. "A tutor?" He asked, "that's…not a terrible profession at all! Why, if he can get clients as good as say, Parkinson, he should be doing quite well!"

"Lupin. She married Remus Lupin."

"...Oh. Oh, I see," Draco murmured as the two walked past Second Class and were now standing just on the boarder of the Third Class part of the ship. Draco turned to fix his gaze upon his cousin, whose head was now bowed down and a look of contemplation was written all over his face. His voice was carefully controlled and calm when he inquired about Henry's state. "You don't usually make a habit of inquiring about those beneath you, Black - you didn't even so much blink when you learned the truth about Aunt Andromeda and - "

"They have a son now, Draco," the violet eyed heir bit out, his voice was constrained and his hands had balled into fists in his pockets. "A baby boy."

"Yes….and?"

"I can't…I can't help but feel as if I should do something to help them out, Draco."

The gray eyed Slytherin raised a surprised brow. "Help them? Henry, you hardly _know_ them! For all you could gather, they're most likely drunks and fools!"

"Exactly!" Henry thundered out, eyes panicked. "Drunks and fools who neglect their son because of something situation creates…I don't want that child to end up hated like James hated me," Henry spat out. "I was lucky enough to have Dad, to have Sirius, but this child," the Black heir emphasized, "he doesn't have anyone. What will he do when his father becomes drunk or his mother is off making quick money? Where will he go?"

Draco blinked. "Well I, I suppose he would…go to an orphanage."

"An orphanage." Henry repeated, voice bleak. "What kind of life would that be?"

"Probably not very pleasant," came a sudden placid voice, causing both Henry and Draco to spin around to see a sandy haired Theodore Nott approaching them, journal tucked under his arm. "Hello Draco, Henry," the railroad heir greeted, a smile on his face. "What are you two upper class dogs doing down here?"

"Looking for you!" Henry suddenly cried, all melancholy gone from his voice as he lunged towards a very surprised Theodore. "Where have you been, mate?"

The Nott heir gestured towards the Third Class, "down here having a conversation with a very friendly man. I can't remember his name though…I think it might have been Rester."

Draco rolled his eyes at Theo's train of thought but Henry easily clapped the fair haired man's shoulder. "Come now, Theo, you and I have quite a lot of work to do."

Theo frowned, "do we?"

"Oh, yes," Draco injected, easily walking away from the Third Class boarder line and towards the two men. "You see, Henry must somehow prove himself to Miss Delacour without being near her."

"Prove himself to…Black? What are you - ?" Nott paused midway when he saw that Henry had suddenly stopped walking, staring off into space. "Black? I say, Black?" Turning to an amused Draco, Theo frowned. "What's gotten into him?"

The blonde shrugged. "He does that when he gets hit by inspiration."

"Inspiration? Are you sure it's not perspiration?" Theo inquired, pulling out a cigarette. "Say, let me borrow your lighter there."

Draco handed over the lighter but before he could question what had happened to Theo's, Henry had broken off into a dead sprint back to first class, "hurry up, Draco! Theo! We only have ten hours left before nightfall! Hurry!" The violet eyed man managed to yell over his shoulder, skidding past two ladies and a young boy playing with a metal train.

Theodore Nott had dropped his cigarette while Draco merely rolled his eyes. "And…he's off," the blonde sighed nonchalantly as he began to walk up towards First Class. Giving a sideways glance at a still shell shocked Theo, Draco smirked. "Oh, trust me on this one, Theo - Henry Black is completely and utterly mad and there's no way to talk him out of it."

"Indeed," the sandy haired man managed to choke out, kicking the fallen cigarette away from him and walking towards his blonde companion. "What do you think he has planned now?"

"Ah, knowing Henry? Possibly something utterly distasteful and crude."

"Really?"

"Well…yes."

* * *

"A midnight stroll complete with candlelight, lilacs, and a full moon?" Draco Malfoy inquired, completely aghast as the three men were gathered in Henry's parlor suite, pouring over Henry's chicken scrawl of blueprints.

"Oh, yes," the Black heir responded, scribbling down a few more points. "On First Class, at the roundabout deck that no one ever goes to because it's so far away. We'll have ivy and flowers entertained on the pillars and gate there, some candlelight to make it look as if fairies have been there…we need to do this right at evening and make sure no one sees of course," he added. "And also an orchestra! Playing...Playing, oh!…Entr'actre to Act 3 from Carmen!"

Now Theo was the one who looked appalled. "Carmen? If you're trying to romance Miss Delacour wouldn't something from oh, say, Samson and Delilah be more appropriate? Perhaps the one by Camille Saint-Sa - "

"No, that'd be too obvious for Fleur…she's not into sentimental songs like that. She likes the feeling that curiosity brings when something intriguing is brought to light…" Henry said, more to himself than to Theo. "You think Gracie would mind too much if I stole away some of the orchestra for tonight, Malfoy?"

The blonde merely sniffed with arrogance at Henry's question. "Don't be ridiculous - of course he wouldn't mind. We can get some of the maids to work on the decorations right now - and if you're really as desperate as you make yourself appear to be, we can always get some of the Third Class crew to pitch in - they'd be more than willing to make a quick dollar."

"Perhaps a desert table for Miss Delacour as well?" Theo suggested, "something with creme Chantilly and strawberries?"

"No, too poised for seduction," Henry countered, pondering as he ran a hand through his hair before jolting upright. "I've got it! We'll get flower arrangements on a little ivory carved table of sorts, and fill it all with petite fours! Fleur'll love that!"

"Petite…fours…?" Theo asked, "but, Henry! Those are for informal garden parties! You don't - "

"Theo, you can repeat logic until you're blue in the face but this is Henry we're talking about," Draco cut in smoothly, crossing his arms and giving his cousin an amused smirk. "We'll see if this new venture of his will triumph or fail. Considering how frigid Miss Delacour is with him now, I shall look forward to this night with anticipation and my opera glasses in tow - it will make for an amusing anecdote to tell to the governor back in New York."

The Black heir merely smirked as he reclined back onto the lounge, crossing his knee over his ankle. "We'll need to have all this set up before seven o'clock - and we'll have to get the cooks in on it too. Theo, do you think you can convince Miss Lovegood to rally a team of decorators ready by five?"

Theo nodded, "of course. Miss Lovegood would be more than delighted with the task."

"And Draco, do you think you can drag Blaise away from Miss Granger long enough to tell her to keep Fleur occupied until eight?"

"Henry, I've made a living through the clever use of manipulation - but of course I can," was the haughty response Draco gave as Henry chuckled.

"Good. Now, where is Miss Delacour?"

"With the Countess," Theo supplied helpfully, "the two went for a turn about deck not twenty minutes ago."

Henry nodded, "all right. Now, Draco, you go hunt down Blaise and try to see if Gabrielle would be willing to help us out. Theo, you go and see where Miss Lovegood is and I'll see if I can lure away some of the staff and orchestra."

"By the talks of this, you sound as if we were going off to war, Black," Draco snickered as he stood up, fixing his already immaculate suit.

The dark haired male merely grinned. "With Miss Delacour, you never know if things are looking up or if she's ready to, well, you know…throw you off the ship."

The gray eyed heir smirked at his cousin's words. "And just how many times has Miss Delacour shown to you that side?"

"…cease your speaking now, Malfoy."

* * *

J. Bruce Ismay sat comfortably upon one of the plush velvet covered recliners in the smoking room, puffing upon a hand rolled Cuban cigar. Surrounding him were chiefly the Titanic's navigation crew, most of them smoking a cigar or cigarette, with a few drinking coffee or liquor.

Ismay raised one hand towards his perfect handle bar mustache as his dark brown eyes narrowed in calculation; to Captain Smith's credit, Ismay had to admit, he was a perfect sailor. Keeping to his duties without a word of protest, following the handbook as if it were some holy script; however, the thing that irked Ismay about Captain Smith was the very thing that people praised about him. To Ismay, Captain E.J. Smith was just far too complacent - the man would rather sail slow and steady rather than try to set a new record, attract some attention. By gods, the man was retiring after this voyage! For a man so well respected as him, wouldn't he wish for a grand going off bang? A transatlantic soliloquy all of his own? That was the very thing that J. Bruce Ismay could not fathom and it was the very thing that was clawing its way deeper and deeper into his mind.

Mr. Riddle was only _mildly_ impressed with the Titanic, remarking it was very much luxurious and fanciful - but nothing much more than that. Besides Ismay's promises of grand profit and a reputation that would not be surpassed, Mr. Thomas E. Riddle had only agreed to supply the funding after he discovered the list royale of people who would be sailing upon the grand liner. The fact that the tycoon had a soft spot for one Henry Sirius Black also helped but the dark haired merchant shook that thought from his head.

No.

He needed Mr. Riddle's complete and whole support if he and his company were every to build their third ship, their piece de resistance as Ismay liked to think of it.

Gigantic.

That would be her name, Ismay vowed, and she would sail the seven seas with a finesse and beauty that would be unparalleled - in this world or the next. She would go down in history as the crowning glory of Ismay's career - of his father's career. Turning a bankrupt shipping port - Irmie and Company - into a billion dollar shipping port (before it was bought by Riddle), and Ismay was a lot of things but a slacker he was not. He would go down in history, that he vowed.

Finishing off his Cuban cigar, Ismay moved from the smoking room, intent on seeking out Captain Smith and inviting him for a quick brandy. And hopefully, Ismay thought, convince him turn up Titanic's speed just a _few_ more notches…

* * *

"Well, you've done it now, Black," Theodore Nott finally said, his voice was slightly weary but there was also a hint of awe and respect. The sandy haired man viewed the complected deck with a kind of serene pleasantness that Henry could only beam at.

"She'll like it, won't she?" Henry inquired, and Theo frowned. The Black heir's tone of voice was meant to be teasing and arrogant - but that attempt had fallen flat; the author-in-training could easily detect the faint worry lying just below the surface.

Clapping Henry on the back, Theo offered him a warm smile. "Miss Fleur will love it, Black - you've outdone yourself. And even if she doesn't, I'm sure Miss Granger and her sister will force her to like it."

"You're words are such a comfort, Nott," Henry deadpanned before stalking away, eager to find Draco and coax some praise out of his blonde cousin. Theodore snickered - of course the Delacour heiress would love it! After all, Theo thought proudly, he _was_ the one who had somehow convinced the maestro to decline to playing at dinner and instead conducting on deck.

_Ah, she'll love it anyhow!_ The dark eyed Nott heir thought gleefully, _Henry may not see it, and Miss Delacour may deny it until the world collapses, but if those two free birds are about ready to settle down as Draco and Miss Gabrielle! Speaking of which…_Theo frowned, _where did they sneak off to anyhow?_

* * *

Dusk. A beautiful time aboard the Titanic - when the sky and sea meet at the horizon and the purple from above kisses the dark blue below. When the faint streaks of orange that escape from a faint dot in the distance manage to produce those hints of glowing gold, when the pinkness becomes such a pale hue that it boarders upon an Aphrodite white…this was the eve for which a very confused Ginevra Weasley had spent rushing back and forth between the First and Third class Decks.

Decorating and dusting, carrying items to and fro, bringing deserts from the First class kitchens above deck (and stealing a few mouthfuls of buttercream icing in the process). It was all very strange.

Was there to be a wedding? The red haired girl thought in confusion -

"She'll like it, won't she?"

Immediately, Ginny stopped dead in her tracks - Henry's voice. Quickly, she scurried over behind a bench, the evening darkness easily concealing her thin form. Straining her ears, she just barely made out the other man's words.

"Miss Fleur will love it, Black - you've outdone yourself." Was the reply Ginny heard, her heart stopping when she heard the French girl's name escape the gentleman's lips.

_FLEUR? _Ginny cried, _he's planning all this for that French tramp? _Her pale hands began to clench together in fury as Ginny bit down hard on her tongue, to keep from crying out. _B-but Miss Stonehill specifically said that the bitch was marrying Malfoy! She…she _cannot_ be…she cannot be marrying _Henry_! _

Without so much as another word, the redhead dashed off - despair written upon her face. The deck space between First and Third had never seemed so apparent and as she dashed off, she could hardly care less that she nearly knocked over a pretty brunette girl, dressed in a blue silk gown.

_Whore!_ Ginny screamed in her head, not giving two damns about whoever it was that fell. They were all bitches to her now - Henry was _courting_ that wench! That blonde haired, blue eyed wench!

_Not if I can help it, _Ginny hissed, the voice in her head sounding louder than a clap of thunder. _I'll make Henry Black mine even if I have to shove the competition off this ship! Damn it all!_

* * *

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